The Legacy of Mann
by EnPassant4264
Summary: A group of heroes is sent to New Mexico on a scouting mission on behalf of the Vishkar Corporation. They soon find that the Badlands holds a much greater treasure than gravel in its midst, and they will have to travel the world to uncover the true depths of a hundred-year old conspiracy.
1. Mission Briefing

The clicking sound of McCree's boots echoed in the otherwise empty hallway as he walked down it. The chrome walls and black carpeting of Watchpoint: Gibraltar almost seemed to be crying out to the noise, wishing back the days where flurries of people would fill the space in their daily meetings. The wooden doors along the sides of the hall were all labeled, "Conference Room," in various languages, but only one on the far right side held any interest to the base's residents anymore.

As the door, deceivingly to its design, opened automatically, he couldn't deny feeling a little nostalgic. It was thanks to Overwatch that he was able to see the world's injustice as a problem to fix, not take advantage of, and entering a briefing room always reminded him of the old days in Blackwatch when he would be assigned to assassinate this guy or seize the assets of that one. This particular room had been chosen over the others because it had the least interesting view. That wasn't the exact reason, of course: in reality, the room faced a rocky inlet at the chokepoint where satellite or boat-mounted cameras had little reason to check for activity.

Looking around, McCree noticed that Tracer and Bahrān were already seated on the Exactofoam couches that faced the stand in the center of the room where the holographic globe is projected from. "Salutations, partners," he greeted, nodding the brim of his hat at the two.

Bahrān simply nodded his head. The man had never been much for words, and especially not in English, which he had only picked up during his brief time in Overwatch.

"G'morning, love," Tracer responded, though lacking her usual enthusiasm. He guessed that she was the first to arrive, as usual, and had been waiting for some time for the rest of them. Indeed, only a few moments after McCree took a seat, she stood up and started towards the door. "I'm going to see what's taking Winston so long," she mentioned.

Just then, the door opened, and the same hyperintelligent gorilla hobbled in, with what appeared to be a flowing cyan tail that could only have been Symmetra's dress, hidden by the ape's bulk. The two had been whispering to each other about something, but stopped once the door was fully shut behind them and they had the full attention of the three agents in the room.

"Uh, yes, hello," Winston began. "I'm glad you all could be here. As I'm sure you're all aware, this is Symmetra, from the Vishkar Corporation. The company has given us a special request, and she will be accompanying you."

Satya crossed her arms at the monkey's awkward introduction, but quickly unfolded them as she made her way to the stand. She pressed a button and the room was bathed in a blue light as the spherical image appeared instantaneously overhead. "Vishkar is looking into the possibility of a new mineral to use in our transmutation devices," she explained, not one for trifling time. "More specifically, we are interested in recycling what you call gravel." Rotating the globe with her mechanical arm, she touched an area in the southwestern region of the United States and zoomed the picture to a small mountain range surrounded by desert. The room's occupants circled around to get a better view. "The wastes here sit on top of one of the world's largest deposits of gravel. It is a sorely undeveloped area known as the Badlands, in New Mexico."

"What, is my country too dirty for you suits so you need us to go get it for you?" McCree cut in, taking out a cigarette and his match.

"Calm down, it's not quite that simple," Winston said in turn. "Our initial surveillance has found suspicious characters investigating the area. We believe they may be… former coworkers of yours, McCree."

Jesse put his hands on his hips, cigarette in his mouth. "Even though we wiped 'em out, I guess old habits die hard. Y'think this is related to that object that they stole from the hypertrain?"

Winston adjusted his glasses. "That's what we intend to find out. The three of you and Symmetra will visit these Badlands and scout the region for potential Talon stakeouts and gravel deposits."

"Hold on a second," Tracer interjected, proceeding to giggle at the pun she made. "That wasn't intentional, I swear. Now, I heard about the train raid, but what object?"

The cowboy hid his cigarette under his poncho, snuffing it against his metal arm out of sight. "It's why they attacked the train in the first place. Some pink-glowing cube."

Lena squinted at him and put her hands on her hips. "And you just let them have it?"

"Beats having them come back and risking more civilians. Couldn't have been too important if they didn't take no precautions to keep it safe."

Seemingly satisfied, Tracer zipped to the door. "Well, the only way to find out is to take it back, so let's not waste any more time!" she exclaimed, running out of the room. Nobody objected to the idea, so they broke their circle of conversation and began the trek to the hangars.

McCree chuckled to himself as he left the room, thinking about how Reyes would conclude mission briefings. "Don't waste any time," he would command. "The sooner this chicken gets killed and cleaned, the fewer people we'll have to answer about it." It wasn't like before, though. They were still under the radar, but now their work didn't look like how a criminal would cover his tracks. Ironic, since we actually are criminals by doing this, he thought.

There was little talk as they made their way through the neglected halls. For McCree, at least, it was because of the company of Symmetra. Satya herself wasn't a bad person, but her unwavering loyalty to Vishkar was an inevitable point of contention for some of the more independent members of the new Overwatch whenever they engaged in conversation. After all, her very presence at the Watchpoint was proof that the company was breaking the laws it supposedly prides itself on creating.

The hangar was one of the most apparent setbacks of having to rebuild the organization from ground zero. It was large enough to accommodate a squad of jets, and due to its location, it also had a lower section which served as a security checkpoint for any-sized watercraft entering the Mediterranean. All of it was forfeited as part of the Petras Act, and the bay now held nothing but salty sea air and a single dropship that Winston had purchased from a secondhand seller and fixed up. As they approached the vehicle, Symmetra made a slight detour to construct a teleporter entrance. "Always be prepared for any possible outcomes," was her only comment as she boarded the ship and took her seat beside the two men. Tracer, who always preferred taking the pilot's seat even though it was perfectly capable of flying itself, had already started the engine and put in the coordinates. The ship hovered out from its landing pad and began descending into the dock area, as it was too noticeable to use the hangar's intended shutters for aircraft.

"This is always my favorite part," Winston says to himself with a smirk. "It's like watching your children leave for school each morning… not that I know anything about that."


	2. Gravelscaping

As he gazed out the window of the dropship, Bahrān finally understood why the noncoastal areas of the United States are called, "flyover country." Africa was well-known for its vast expanses of nature, of course, but that was because it was filled with unique wildlife, both flora and fauna. Here, it was nothing but a patchwork of grass, crops, and dirt. He had done his homework on the United States when he joined Overwatch, and he remembered that much of the farmland that was abandoned due to increased crop efficiency had been reclaimed as part of an initiative to end world hunger. That was back when Overwatch had the power to orchestrate such a movement, he recalled. I wonder what has happened to the land since then.

The scenery shifted from green to tan as the dropship flew into the region where their mission would take place. "Alright, loves, we'll be landing soon. Time to gear up!" Tracer called over the intercom. The three agents in the room stood up, and no later than that did Tracer pop her head in from the cockpit. "Sorry, that wasn't intentional either. Puns just come to me!"

Bahrān thought he saw Symmetra roll her eyes. The four of them went to their respective storage closets and grabbed their weapons and the supplies they'd need to chart the area. Usually, all they would do is fly in a survey drone who could scan and virtually recreate the entire area, including heat signatures. However, it would be a dead ringer to their arrival, and the drone they had wasn't capable of noise-cancelling the baking heat from the desert, anyway. They would have to settle for placing echo markers and triangulating the area from the sonar responses they got. That was to be Tracer's job; Symmetra had a map projector that could locate gravel and places of interest, his Stone Packer would be able to extract samples to send to Vishkar, and McCree, with his watchful eye, would spot bad guys. "Just so you know," the cowboy mentioned as they felt the dropship begin its landing sequence, "the Gang didn't run ops through this land. Terrain's too rough for payloads. I won't be able to guide y'all."

"My geographic device will be multi-purpose, then," commented Symmetra.

They soon felt the lurch that signaled the landing of the ship and lined up at the ramp to watch it open. Immediately, the blinding sun poured into the craft, reflecting off of the rustic red canyons they had landed in. There was only one path carved ahead of them, but it forked in two not too far ahead. The crew exited, adjusting their eyes to the outdoors and taking a good look around to familiarize themselves with the little they could see. Tracer immediately blinked over to the canyon wall and placed an echo marker. "That's a good start," she said proudly. "I've got… ten of these. Nine, now that I stuck one here."

Symmetra frowned. "It would be more advisable to place them where the canyons split, so they can reflect clearly down all of the connecting trails."

"Fine, have it your way!" Tracer retorted, grabbing the marker.

"Starting a fight so soon, ladies?" McCree remarked. Bahrān noticed that he had already lit a cigarette. Both of the females shot McCree a look, but they knew he was right and didn't say anything.

So the four heroes continued like that, wandering the maze of rocky red walls, occasionally placing echo markers and waiting for Symmetra to confirm their activation and whether they had found anything. Time seemed to pass slowly in the blistering heat, the little shade offered by the overhangs doing little to ease their fatigue.

"Something is not right," Bahrān commented, finally breaking the silence. "We have found nothing that we came here for."

"Yeah, you sure we're in the right place?" McCree agreed.

Symmetra paused for a moment, something passing across her visor. "I am certain. My… GPS, is it? It confirms it."

They turned a corner and found that the path dug into the earth a little and reached a dead end. Bahrān eyed the far end of the crevice suspiciously. "That wall… it is unusually flat."

"Um, yeah, I can see that." Tracer replied. "You think it's a Talon base?"

They searched the area around the wall for possible clues, until McCree reached his hand into a small crack on the wall's edge. "Now, what do we have here? It's metal. Definitely not something that occurs naturally."

The others gathered around him. Symmetra offered her smooth metal hand and said, "Allow me to try."

McCree retracted his organic limb and stepped aside. A slight cyan glow from Symmetra's hand came from the nook as she rummaged through it. "It appears to be some sort of fingerprint scanner. Thankfully, my line of work has required me to fool some of these in the past. A small amount of manipulation should allow me to open the path."

The others prepared their weaponry for possible defensive measures, and Tracer did a scan of the area to make sure they weren't being watched. They then heard a distinct beep, and with much rumbling, the wall in front of them swung outward.


	3. The Lost Weapon

They were greeted by darkness instead of a lively entrance. "I've seen this tactic before… turn out the lights so they won't see you comin'," McCree commented. His hand rested on his holstered pistol, which to him was equivalent to having a gun raised in the firing position.

The four of them cautiously entered the dark room and began searching for a light source. Suddenly, the secret door closed loudly behind them, leaving Symmetra's hard-light-architect hand and Tracer's chronal accelerator as the only sources of light, providing a dim cyan glow to the area around them. "I'm starting to think this place is empty," Tracer whispered, a hint of worry visible on her face. "You'd think they'd've fired at us by now."

As their eyes adjusted to the darkness, they noticed that the room had stairs downward, and at the far end was a wide window that was letting in a small amount of light. It was hard to discern anything about what was beyond it due to a combination of dirtiness accumulated by the window, the general darkness of the area, and what appeared to be a large metal beam blocking the majority of the view.

Red and cyan soon accompanied them as McCree sparked his lighter and Symmetra used her ever-useful artificial limb as a flashlight. Sweeping the room, it was immediately apparent that it was very old, with most of the color faded and dust particles floating around the spotlight's beam. The room had a very low ceiling, but was quite wide. She noticed that it was also oddly (and coincidentally) symmetric. One side of the room had blue flooring and ceiling, and the other side had red in the same places, with a line straight down the middle dividing them. An elevator door and stairwell entrance existed in identical places, as well.

"I recommend we divide into two groups and have each explore one of the halves," she suggested. With a few words of agreement, Tracer joined her on the red side of the room, with McCree and Bahrān meeting on the blue side. Satya couldn't help but notice the color clash, as the two females were glowing a light blue, and the boys were wearing reddish colors.

"Testing, one, two, three," a British voice called over their radio. "Alright, loves, we can keep in touch!"

Lights in hand (literally, for Symmetra), they split up and opened their respective doors to the stairwells. For Tracer, it was easy to blink down each flight of stairs, but Satya had to endure a game of Russian Roulette, each stair creaking and threatening to break under her heel due to corrosion from the rust. Thankfully, there were only a few flights of stairs before they reached a door. She didn't hesitate in using it, though it took a little force to unstick the door from all of its disuse.

On the other side, she found herself on a walkway that overlooked a lower, circular floor near the door. It branched left and right at its end, beyond which another part of the lower floor was visible, including a thin, tall window that was also murky. Tracer wasted no time in zipping to that end and seeing what was further. "Man, what is this place? It can't be an old Overwatch base, can it?"

"To be honest, the structure appears to be older than Overwatch," Symmetra answered. Part of Vishkar's schooling included learning build materials and architectural styles throughout recent history, so as to better identify when a building due for renovation was made and what precautions and procedures to take. "If I remember correctly, this level of degradation would potentially place it before even the turn of the millennium."

Tracer turned back and exclaimed, "That's so cool! Hey, what's over here?" before disappearing from sight. Satya, watching her step, followed her out and to the left.

What they saw stunned them. A large, circular chamber was dug out of the rock, with a hole in the ceiling where the noontime sun filtered light downwards. The bottom of the pit was too dark to see, but many large pipes emerged from it and connected to the sides of the chamber. A large, closed capsule filled the center of the room, but it had collapsed under its weight and was resting precariously at the edge of the pit. There was some sort wheel on top of the capsule, which was attached to a large support beam that protruded from above the window they had looked through before. The lower level led out onto a circular balcony surrounding the pit, though most of it was rusted, and some parts had fallen off into the abyss below. The path they were on circled around as well; there was a side area with what appeared to be shutter doors leading somewhere they couldn't see, and as they kept walking, they could see that the same sort of mirroring occurred on the other side. In the exact middle, a staircase leading to an overhanging upper floor was blocked off by fallen debree.

"Symmetra reporting. We have discovered an ancient chamber of some sort," she delivered into the intercom.

"I read ya. We're on the other side. What in the Sam hell is this place?" a Southern accent replied.

"We should break open to the side areas," a third, more broken English added. "Tracer, do you have your time bombs?"

"Of course, love! I never leave home without 'em!" the Brit said cheerfully, bringing the communication full circle.

Symmetra turned around and wasn't surprised to see Tracer already at the door in question, tapping in various places to find where it was most vulnerable. Wherever she touched, a cloud of dust was stirred from its resting place on one of the bars that made up the door. The Indian raised an eyebrow at the action. "Given the age of this door, is it necessary to waste such time finding a place to tear it apart?"

"My Pulse Bombs are powerful, but they're small explosions. If I'm not mistaken, isn't your photon gun thing similar?"

Satya glanced at the claw-like Photon Projector in her right hand. True to its name, it functioned by concentrating photons and firing them at unlikeable entities to disrupt them at a molecular level. As far as she knew, Tracer's devices simply generated massive amounts of heat to turn the air into plasma. She supposed that one could confuse the two because one's aftereffects imitate the other: that is, the photon beam produces heat as a result of energy emission from the particles, and the plasma produces light because heat excites atoms which produce photons as their energy levels drop.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a distant clang which she initially dismissed as a piece of falling rubble. "This thing must be military grade. A direct hit from Ole Stoneflinger here barely made it budge. We're gonna be here a while," reported McCree.

Tracer, hands on her hips again, was leaned over a particular part of the door. "Yeah, ours got bullet holes in it." Grinning, she pulled out a Pulse Bomb. "We'll see how long that lasts!"

Symmetra had worked with Tracer before and knew what that meant. She immediately ran for cover around the corner and heard a distinct ticking as she was joined by a cyan flash that formed into the thin, goggled lady. The bomb went off, the searing sound of ionized air being followed by crunching metal and shattering glass. The two women watched as debris flew past, creating a cloud of smoke and dust in its wake. They both went into coughing fits as they turned away, but the dank underground air did them no favors.

When they were finally able to compose themselves, they went to look at the damage. The shutters of the door were strewn about, most of them having been broken or bent and were glowing red from the heat. Careful not to burn themselves on the molten bars, Symmetra and Tracer stepped past into the room beyond. It was devoid of furniture other than a white cabinet against the right wall with windows on either side, as well as the worn remains of a wooden bench and cubbyholes on the far side. There was a path on the right that lead to the other entrance, and the interior walls on that side appeared to be shared with another room due to the presence of windows and a couple of doors.

The Brit blinked over to the storage cubbies, while Satya took the time to rummage through the white cabinet. She noted that it had the Red Cross symbol on it, and inside, there was a variety of no-doubt expired medicines, bandages, and other first-aid materials. _There isn't any of that nanoscopic healing technology here. I think that was invented by Overwatch… all I remember is that Vishkar was very happy to use it. It's standard in all of our buildings, and for good reason,_ she pondered, picking up one of the bottles. Maybe the expiration dates will give me a better clue on dating this place.

"Gods…" she gasped as she smudged the dust off of the container. Immediately, she looked at her visor, using its eye-detection technology to activate her radio comm. "We have breached the room. This facility is much, much older than we originally thought. The medication here expired in _1970_."

"It's a bloody century old‽" came Tracer's voice over the intercom. The Indian glanced to her left to see the live version, slouching and with her mouth agape.

"I am embarrassed," an exasperated African accent said, "that our modern weapons still fail to collapse a one-hundred-year door."

With the initial shock of the realization over, Symmetra briefly considered taking it with her to be analyzed at base. She decided that there wouldn't be anything useful to gain from an unopened pill bottle and replaced it in its original location. After that, she noticed that Tracer was attempting to open the door that was adjacent to the cabinet.

"I thought I would try being nice," she defended, sighing and pouting. "Looks like I'll have to let myself in." She took a position with her shoulder facing the door, and then cyan flashed through the door as it was tackled off of its rusty hinges. "I'm okay!" she managed before coughing from the swirling dust. "You guys should come see this! It's really vintage," she said into the radio.

Satya rolled her eyes and followed Tracer's suggestion. Using the flashlight in the center of her palm, she gazed upon several racks, full of rolls and rolls of film tape. Two human-sized computers that could only be described as retro, if that was the word people used, sat on the near wall. "Assuming these are still in one piece, it will be very interesting to probe their contents."

"Yeah, there sure are a lot of them! And, um…" Tracer glaced towards another door and rubbed her shoulder, "would you mind opening that one? I think one round of rugby was enough for me."

Looking at the door as well, Symmetra could barely make out some words on the faded glass. As she walked up and pointed her gun in the direction of the hinges, she shone her light directly at them. Written, facing the other side of the door in large black letters, were the words, "TOP SECRET." It was against her training to get cocky, but she couldn't help but smirk as she pulled the trigger and watched the door get blown sideways by the disintegration of its hinges. Ancient secrets? Vishkar has not given me a mission this fun in a long time.

Using her artificial arm, she motioned for Tracer to follow. Instead, Tracer pushed ahead of her through the door. All that was there was a flight of stairs leading downward and to the left, leading to another door with the same inscription. It took a moment for Symmetra to realize that it wasn't being lit up by the cyan equipment they had with them. She instinctively assumed a defense stance and grabbed Tracer's shoulder before she could bound down the stairs. "There is light coming from the door. Someone might be in there," she whispered.

Tracer nodded, putting a hand to her ear as she quietly and formally spoke into her microphone: "We have a situation. Someone's got a light on, and I don't know of any generators that last a hundred years. There may be hostiles. You need to get over here."

Slowly, the two inched down the stairs. Each one creaked a little, and Satya couldn't help but look over her shoulder occasionally for someone behind them. When they had both reached the bottom, they shared a look, tightened the grips on their weapons, and burst through the door.

They quickly realized that it was all anti-climactic, as the room was unoccupied. The light was coming from a single bar light that stretched across the ceiling that looked to be of the outdated incandescent variety. A quick survey revealed that the secret location held nothing noteworthy, with one exception:

Lined up on either side, each attached to a computer with all sorts of graphs on them, were a total of nine large capsules.


	4. Unsealed Fate

The discovery excited, worried, and confused Tracer all at the same time. The first was because it was easily the most interesting event that had occurred since Winston issued the Recall. She lived for mysteries and adventure, and experiencing the feeling of a plot twist after so long made her realize just how much she had missed them following the disbandment of Overwatch. The second was because these capsules are almost certainly what Talon has been looking for in the area, so whatever is inside them has to be valuable and likely very destructive. The third was because the room's very presence was an anomaly to the usual "hideout in an abandoned facility" setting she had seen quite a few times back in the day. Namely, the hideout part of it was missing. The room was a solitary sign of occupancy in a base that had apparently been hidden from the outside world for a hundred years. What _is_ in those capsules? Has someone been keeping a secret project here? If so, who, and for how long? She was itching to just open them up, but her training and her instinct told her that she needed to make an informed decision this time around.

Having made that determination, she allowed herself to slow down and inspect the room in more detail. The capsules alternated sides and created an aisle between them. On the far end of the room was a desk surrounded by filing cabinets and drawers, all coated in the faded white of dust particles. Behind her, there was a matching set of nine, quite spacious lockers. They were all rusted, but none had broken open.

She began to inspect one of the capsules when Symmetra broke the silence. "Be careful about leaving evidence of our presence. If whoever is using this space knows they have been visited, they will likely take more defensive measures when we return."

"I think we did that already when we blew up the doors, love. This place is unsettlin' for me too, but we need to focus on keeping whatever this stuff is out of Talon's hands," Lena retorted. She blinked over to the desk, stirring up another dust cloud in her wake. On the desk were a few neatly organized stacks of paper, which were surrounding an old cassette player. Picking it up, she commented, "Now this brings me back! Me mum used to collect antiques like this. I never imagined I'd find one outside of a museum. Guess this place really is old, ain't it?"

When she did not receive a reply, she looked over her shoulder to find Symmetra looking at the monitor connected to the same capsule she was just at. Tracer carried the radio over to the Indian and peeked at the screen, adding in her trademark, "Whatcha lookin' at?"

A dark-skinned hand pointed at the titles of the graphs on the screen. The labels corresponded to critical functions of a human, much like what one would see at a hospital. When Tracer saw that, she gasped and covered her mouth. The old audio device fell to the floor with a clang, but it surprisingly did not break. "You mean… there are people in here‽"

Symmetra gave her a grave look. "… it would appear so," she stated flatly. The two women stared at each other for a moment, silence once again washing over them and weighing them down with emotion. Once again, Symmetra was the first to move as she reached down and picked up the player. "This was left conspicuously, yes? It looks to have a tape in it. Maybe it will reveal the light of the situation."

Slowly, Tracer pressed the play button, and it felt like an eternity passed as the dinosaur of a machine whirred to life and began reading the tape. A female voice began to speak, somewhat distorted from the age and quality of the cassette.

 _"Greetings! Since you're hearing this recording and weren't killed by any of the 164 uniquely fatal traps I set up to defend it, that means that either you're an extremely skilled infiltrator, or the facility hasn't been restored from disuse and the traps fell apart. If it's the former, then I would like to congratulate you on your caution, agility, and patience. At least one of those traps was designed to stay triggered for days at a time. Somewhere in this room is a folder containing all of my files on the underhanded and illegal activities of TF Industries – guarded by more deadly traps, of course. In the latter case, this hopefully means that the damned corporation has fallen if it isn't keeping after its doomsday weapons._

 _I'm sure you're wondering about those capsules. Inside of them are nine of the most competent killers money can buy. Since you're here and I'm probably dead, there's not much I can do if you choose to unseal them, but be warned that they will probably put up a fight. Mercs… if you guys are hearing this… I'm sorry. The Administrator forced me to kill you, and it took some work keeping you alive here under the radar."_

Tracer didn't hesitate in glancing at the screen and jamming her finger against a button on the screen that read, "Release." Her heartfelt rescue attempt didn't take into account that the entire building predated touch screens, so all that resulted was a tilted monitor and her shaking her hand from the impact. Regardless, Symmetra immediately grabbed her wrists and looked her straight in the eye. "Are you insane? The recording clearly stated that these are _assassins_ who can _kill_ us!"

Lena jerked her hands away, tears welling up behind her goggles. "But they're _humans_ , Satya! We can't just leave them like this! Think of what Talon would do to them!" She was practically yelling at this point, disregarding the stealth she was supposed to be employing. Her mind was overwhelmed with fear, with empathy… with guilt. Even if they were mercenaries, she was going to save them. She would not fail again.

"Think rationally, Lena!" Symmetra hissed in response. Both agents seemed somewhat tensed by the use of their real names over their call signs. The visor-equipped one sighed, and put one of her hands to her forehead. "At the very least, allow us to discuss it with McCree and Bahrān before making a hasty decision. You should already know that there will be complications with waking someone up from a century-long stasis. Remember when Mei was discovered in Antarctica?"

Tracer visibly calmed after that. Of course she remembered when the world-famous scientist and personal hero Mei-Ling Zhou was found miraculously alive after years of isolation when a polar storm cut off contact to her Watchpoint. Symmetra had a point: Mei had been different ever since that incident. She was more erratic, even frantic at times. Tracer knew from personal experience that losing an extended period of time was very difficult to adapt to. You realize just how short life is. You want to try and compensate for what you missed, but each day, you realize how much could've been done if only you were there.

 _And these guys… they've lost everything. Their friends, assuming they had some, are dead. Their families are dead. Their descendants are probably dead as well. Hell, anyone they've ever talked to is dead. The whole world has changed in a hundred years._

The Brit hung her head, losing all of her intensity. "You're right," she said. Somberly, the two turned back and went up the stairs, waiting for the men to appear in the mess that they'd left behind. It didn't take long for a sweeping poncho and lumbering armor to rush in the door, weapons locked and loaded. Symmetra exited back into the main room to greet them.

"I apologize for not communicating as we checked. There are no hostiles in the room beyond… yet."

McCree, who looked to have started a fresh cigarette, raised the brim of his hat. "Yet? Whadya mean by that?"

The figure of Tracer appeared behind Symmetra, adding a cyan outline from her accelerator to the already cyan-clad woman. "We found some capsules down there. Nine in all. Each holds a trained killer prisoner."

Unsurprisingly, the men were startled at that statement. McCree, as the voice of the two, stepped forward. "Prisoner? Sounds to me like they were put there for a reason."

Tracer shook her head and parted a lock of her messy hair from her face. "There was a recording. You should take a listen." She turned away and proceeded back into the shadow of the dark window. Symmetra nodded and gestured for them to follow back into the secret room. Tracer was already there, radio in hands.

"Well I'll be darned… Haven't seen me a player that old in quite some time. You weren't kidding when you said it was a century old," remarked McCree.

Tracer uncharacteristically said nothing, only playing the tape for them. Both men seemed to contemplate what the lady on the recording said.

It was Bahrān who spoke up first. "We have no choice, I think. The risk of Talon finding them is far too great. How should we, um, break it to them, if that is the right way to say it, that they have been frozen for a hundred years?"

McCree waved his hand towards the door. "We could easily show them, but that might make it harder to swallow."

"At Vishkar, we often find that individual meetings help our clients negotiate more peacefully. I recommend that we follow a similar course of action."

"I think I should talk to them alone," Tracer volunteered. "If we're all here, they may feel intimidated and attack." She looked down at her chronal accelerator. "I know what it's like to have time stolen from you. It'll be for the best."

"I think we can agree to that. We'll be right outside in case any horses break out of the stable," McCree said, turning towards the door with the other two in tow. The door was left open a crack, but thankfully, it opened towards the capsules, so the displaced killers wouldn't notice it.

Lena took a moment to compose her thoughts while also removing dust over the tops of the screens to see the names listed on there. She was mildly disappointed to see only their job titles there. After some thought, she decided it would be best to start with the one called, "The Scout." Scouts run fast, and so does she. Well, she does thanks to her accelerator, and that would help break the news.

She held the mouse and was quickly able to figure out that the arrow on the screen was linked to it. Her memory was a bit foggy, but when she was still a pilot, there were still some parts of the jets that were operated manually like this. She guided the cursor to the Release button, and after a brief pause, clicked it.

The immediate sound she heard was something powering down, which made her worry that the capsule really had broken after so long. _Now now, Lena, it was monitoring just fine a moment ago,_ she corrected. Some more clicks and noises occurred, and finally, the door on the capsule unsealed and opened. Tracer released a breath that she didn't know she was holding.

A male groan came from the capsule. She resisted the urge to peek inside and patiently waited for the man to emerge. Soon, he tumbled out, clearly groggy from his suspended animation. He seemed dressed for the weather, as he was wearing a red T-shirt and gray pants rolled up to his shins. Tracer couldn't help but chuckle slightly as the length of his socks, which disappeared past his pant legs. His shoes appeared to be cleats, which likely helped with his running. He had a narrow face with a bit of stubble, but she couldn't see what color his eyes were. His hair was short and shiny, as if it was recently gelled. It was impressive that he wasn't a shaggy monster, given that it had been a hundred years and preservation couldn't have been that good back then.

Using the table as support, the Scout took in his surroundings. When he noticed Tracer standing there, he quickly made a feeble attempt to stand straight and gave her an unfocused smile. "Mmm, dat was a good nap, I tell ya."

She couldn't quite place his accent. It sounded like a New York one, but she had been there enough times to spot some subtle differences.

"And yes, I do look dis good in the morning."

Tracer finally understood what he was doing. _This guy wakes up from a coma and starts hitting on me. Bloody lovely._

Apparently she was staring, because the Scout took a step towards her and made a pose, attempting to flex his muscles which were pathetically weak. "Made ya speechless, didn't I? Don't need to tell me, I have dis effect on all the ladies."

Tracer defensively crossed her arms over her accelerator, but she finally regained her wits enough to say something. "Not exactly. Do you have any idea what sort of nap you took?"

He gave her a confused look. "What am I, stupid? Nothin' beats the feeling of bein' fixed up by a Medigun!" he responded with a laugh, which was cut short when realization spread across his face. "Oh, shoot, I wasn't supposed to say dat. Sorry, sweetcheeks, I'm gonna hafta kill ya now."

Of all the roadblocks she was expecting to encounter in awakening these guys, frustration wasn't one of them. _He's gotta still be out of it from the hibernation,_ she reassured herself. _There's no way he's this oblivious._ She watched as the Scout searched his person for whatever weapon he thought he was carrying.

Enough was enough, she decided, and she marched up to him, grabbed his shoulders, and looked him straight in the eye. "I don't know who you think you are, but you're missing out on some important details." She removed one arm and pointed straight at the glowing device on her chest. "Does this look like it should be possible to you?"

He rubbed his chin as he squinted at the cylinder. "Um, maybe. I've seen something like it before."

Tracer groaned and ran a hand down her face. "Okay, look, see that capsule behind you? You were in hibernation there for a _very_ long time," she explained before grabbing the radio which had been still sitting on the desk and pressing the play button. "If you don't believe me, listen to this."

The Scout flinched when it started, and she knew that he recognized the voice. He lost more of his swagger with each sentence that was said, and when it finished, he fell back against the capsule behind him. "No… dat can't be true. Ms. Pauling would nevah… You made that up!"

Anger _was_ one of the situations Tracer had prepared for, and she blinked to the door to avoid the punch that he suddenly threw at her face. "Come and see for yourself," she teased, before blinking up the stairs. She went to the middle of the room with the records, and she was surprised to see that the Scout had already bounded up the stairs. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the glint of something metallic, likely McCree, lurking in a darker part of the room.

Both of the runners' anger dissipated as the Bostonian took in the ruined state of his former base, confirming with finality that what had been said was true. He curled up against a wall and ran his hands through his hair. Lena kneeled next to him and beamed at him. "Hey, love, I know it's hard. I had an accident and disappeared from time for months at a time. If not for this thing on my chest, I'd be gone altogether."

The look he gave her wasn't reassuring, but she knew she needed to continue due to the time constraints. "I hate to ask this of you, but could you help me convince the rest of your team? We're not really supposed to be here, and people are going to try and kill us after not too long."

"So what? I'm already dead," he replied in defeat.

"That's not true! Did you listen to the recording? This… Pauline person went through all that effort to keep you from dying. The least you can do is respect that and try not to get yourself killed for real."

For a moment, he didn't respond. Then, he lifted his head against the wall and sighed heavily. "Man, I feel ripped off. Dere ain't no rest for da wicked even after we close our eyes for good!"

Tracer had no idea what he was talking about, but she stood and helped him get to his feet. As he descended back down the stairwell and she followed suit, she flashed a thumbs up to the corner where her teammate was hiding.


	5. Meet the Team

"We should probly start with the Engie. He's always been the best at handlin' these sorts of situations," the Scout suggested. Well, intelligently, he added in thought. The Engie was nothing if not honest, and he hoped that the Texan would have the guts to ask exactly how long, "very long," was, because he didn't.

He located the monitor with the title, "The Engineer," and with one deft movement, clicked the Release button. As the capsule clicked and hissed, he thought about what he had experienced when he had awoken. He had slowly drifted into consciousness with the feeling of Medi Gun stuff all around him, which faded quickly before the capsule door opened, like an elevator. Even though he felt refreshed as he usually did when healed up, there was a certain sluggishness to him at first that he couldn't quite place.

His pondering was interrupted by a grunt as the Engineer rested his hands on the sides of his capsule's opening and peered his head around. "Hummm… hey, Scout. Hey…" he removed his protective goggles when he didn't recognize the awkward-looking female. Within an instant, he had stood to his full height, and the Scout chuckled because the man was still shorter than either of them. "And who the hell are you, missy?"

"I'm Tracer!" she responded cheerfully, grinning and flashing him a peace sign. "Welcome to the future, love!"

The Scout was quick to step in when he noticed the murderous look on the Engie's face. He didn't exactly trust her either, but even two-on-one, she'd win because she had weapons and they didn't. "Settle down, hardhat," he said, grabbing the recording device. "Apparently Ms. Pauling had to make a hard choice. Here, take a listen."

It was hard for the Scout to remain vigilant as the tape played again. He still almost couldn't believe what she was saying, even the second time around. Especially the part where she said she was probably dead. It couldn't have been that long, could it? Or… was she expectin' something else?

As the recording stopped, the Engineer seemed to understand the situation well enough to go along with it. With a huff, he looked again at the Brit. "Okay, I won't horse around. How long we been out?"

The Scout grew nervous. He knew it wasn't going to be short, given how secretive his former employers were. If he was lucky, it'd be under a year. The recent wars against Gray and the original mercs were quite destructive and noticeable, especially since they were linked to the fall of the great Mann Co. He was expecting more along the line of 4-5 years. It couldn't have been more than 10 before someone accidentally blabbed about the wrong job and got the feds investigating their ass.

Tracer turned away and played her hair. "Umm… how about I tell you once all your mates are here?"

That wasn't quite what either of them were expecting, but they couldn't argue with it. Perhaps it was because they could both tell that it was going to be worse than they thought.

Scout broke the worrisome silence that had formed between them. "Uhh… okay. Sniper's gonna be your next best bet."

Another thing he thought funny was that all of the capsules were the same size. He suppressed another laugh thinking about how the Heavy was stuffed into the little thing. The Sniper's capsule was the last one, and he wondered how Ms. Pauling had chosen which one of them went where. It was probably best not to think about that, actually.

Sniper would be the next easiest to convince. With both himself and the Engie on the side of this Tracer lady, it wasn't much of a choice not to believe them. When he exited his capsule, he groaned at the sight of the three innocent-looking short people. "Are you trying to coax a girl into sleeping here so you can rob and kill her again? Don't you remember what happened last time?"

Scout knew exactly who the tall man was referring to, and he was surprised that Sniper would think about that while doped up on Medigun. Then again, that wasn't what happened with Lyra. Regaining his smile, he casually walked up to the raised Australian and put his hand on his shoulder. Play it cool, just as we talked about. "Nah, man. Actually, I've got some bad news. We're kinda in the future."

"Come again?" he questioned.

"Yeah, man, Ms. Pauling kinda… look, we got a tape, it'll take forever to play it to everyone, and this lady who's on our side over here says people are trying to kill us."

The Sniper looked over Scout to Tracer, who waved and greeted, "Hiya! I'm Tracer!" He didn't look amused and turned back to the Scout.

"Y'know what, you two sound pretty similar," the clueless Bostonian commented. "How cool would it be if y'were from da same place?"

The Australian slapped the Scout on the back of his head. "Britain's not bloody Australia, you moron!" he reprimanded. The Brit quickly followed it up with a slap of her own.

"Geez, guys…"

The four of them quickly went about opening the other capsules, greeting each team member and then herding them towards the lockers for the big reveal. Scout entertained himself by watching the future girl's reactions to his wacky teammates. She was intrigued by the Medic, blissfully unaware of the man's crazy obsession with body parts. The Heavy surprised her more than it scared her, which he found odd given his unrivalled size. Frenchie didn't impress her, though to be fair being doozy wasn't exactly his best game. Demo started out normal, since he was always drunk, but he got confused when he realized that his time out sobered him up. Scout couldn't tell what she thought of that. Pyro elicited the usual reaction of disturbedness mixed with horror at learning his occupation. Lastly, there was the Soldier, who immediately went to shouting about Tracer being British and having technology strapped to her chest and yadda yadda yadda. They had warned her in advance about him, but she still could barely hold her temper. Classic stuff.

With all nine of them present, Tracer briefly explained the situation and was about to press Play on the tape when the door barged open. Everyone prepared to attack as an armed cowboy, a sexy brown lady, and a tough black guy burst through the door, but the girl was quick to tell them that they were allies.

"Holy hell, do we have a crew here!" the cowboy remarked, before turning his attention to the perky lady. "You said they're killers, right? 'Cuz we got company."

"You mean Talon found us?" she responded.

"Yes," answered the black man. "My concern is that the friends of yours do not have weapons."

The mercs briefly looked embarrassed at being about to charge without their guns, but that was quickly rectified as, like clockwork, they turned to their lockers and loaded up all of their gear in seconds. Scout could tell that their guests were impressed, so he piped out, "Now, WHO said we didn' have weapons?"

"Before we begin, may I ask who it is we're about to kill?" the Spy inquired.

Symmetra was the first to respond. "They are a group of terrorists called Tal-"

"TERRORISTS?" the Soldier yelled, causing all four of the people who weren't used to his interruptions to flinch. "That is UN-AMERICAN! C'mon, boys, let's introduce their asses to our foot!" He then pushed his way out the door.

The remaining combatants shared a look before shrugging and following him out.

* * *

The reason this chapter is short and late is because I am officially a college student now. I had originally intended to have this chapter finished before I left, but life got in the way and I haven't had much time since then. This also means that further updates will be much sparser as well.

Bonus ducks for whoever figures out which fanfic I'm referencing with the name Lyra.


	6. Confrontation

Soldier found the first agents in the respawn room. He loved the looks on their faces as they realized that they were about to get a fist full of rocket. "Ha HA, nobody attacks MY base and gets away with it!" Well, _was_ it his base anymore? He wasn't sure what to think about the whole time travel thing. He still wasn't entirely convinced that the fake American girl wasn't lying.

With a satisfying boom, body parts and blood were strewn about the old carpet. He marched out and felt the miasma enthuse him. _Just like old times. Buckets of bolts don't have the same satisfaction,_ he thought. He made his way towards the remains of the respawn door, when he found that one of those thugs had survived the blast, and his neck was just begging for a good snapping. He leaned into position and was about to create that wonderful crack when he heard a bang, and then he was dead.

Tracer and Scout were less than a second from joining Soldier in the main respawn room when they heard the shot and instantly froze. The former looked horrified as the corpse of the madman fell over, a bullet landed perfectly in his skull without touching his helmet. The Bostonian wasted no time in grabbing her by the waist and pulling her to cover. The door frame where her head had been only a moment before was embedded with another shot, and it splintered slightly from the impact.

"Snipah!" he called, though all of his teammates were ahead of him and had already ducked out of sight of the destroyed remains of the shutter door. Symmetra and Bahrān were the only two to remain standing, clueless of the imperativeness of the situation as they had never faced a sniper before. McCree grabbed their arms and tugged them down before quietly reprimanding them.

When the Soldier awoke from the metal cylinder thing, he definitely wasn't expecting this to happen. Though, he could have sworn that his squad was with him last time…

He grinned devilishly as he realized what he had done. He bound across the room and up the stairs to see seven grins and four expressions of shock form when he burst through the doorway. "Surprised to see me, ladies‽ No real American soldier dies to a CAMPER!"

At that point, a whole squadron of people, figures obscured by the dim and dirty window, stormed through the remains of the shutter door. Soldier could tell from experience that their composure was weakened by the bloody pieces of their former allies, but they wasted little time in securing the room.

The Demoman stepped up towards the door. "Don't worry laddies, ah'll teach 'em a thing or two." Distinct phoomphing sounds came from the cannon of his grenade launcher as two glowing red capsules were shot out, ricocheting off of the wall into the hallway. There was little time to react before the whole room shook, a cloud of red and brown dust filling the respawn room. Loud Scottish laughter was heard as the black man watched the events unfold. "Man, I wish I had a drink right about now."

Another dark-skinned figure rose, this one wearing a much lighter blue than the Soldier was. Her outfit was quite sexy, but at the same time, impractical for a fight. _This is why women should stay off the battlefield,_ he criticized. "Not that I am objecting to you doing your… jobs," her weirdly-accented voice spoke up, "but shouldn't we devise some sort of plan to get out of here? This building is going to collapse if you use too many explosives like that."

"We don' exactly got time for a tea party," the Scout commented.

"Heavy will make this quick, then," the lumbering Russian, for the first time since awakening, spoke. "I go with Doctor and Demoman outside; Soldier take middle with cowboy and other black man; Engie, Pyro, and leetle lady build fort near exit; Sniper and Spy kill enemy Sniper; tiny runners watch backs. Da?"

"No da, Commie! I ain't going with these two trick-or-treaters!" Soldier objected.

"Says the person who does not see past his helmet," returned Bahrān.

This caught Doe's attention, and he marched over to the dark-skinned man who was a good six inches taller than he. "How DARE you speak to your commanding officer like that! I have half a mind to kill you myself!"

A snicker came from the next shelf of tapes, and the Soldier spun on his heel to see the cowboy smoking a cigar. "Commandin' officer? Don't ya haveta be workin' with us to be one of those?"

"You… I… DAMN YOU!" the helmeted man fumbled in response. Without any comebacks, he started grumbling as everyone got in their teams.

The Sniper crouched near the doorway and was about to start his duel with the enemy sharpshooter when another group of terrorists burst through the door. The team knew better than to get within sights of a sniper standoff, so the Heavy shoulder-tackled the worn window, effortlessly breaking through it. His German accomplice sighed, but carefully stepped over the broken glass and healed him as the din of the revved minigun and its stream of bullets filled the room. Leaving the rapidly grown pile of bodies on the floor, Heavy's group and the Scout cut left, while Soldier led the rest of the team and the three Overwatch agents through the former main exit. The Engineer dropped a Teleporter Entrance down on his way out, and the obnoxious Brit was telling something to the Sniper, most likely to distract him. He quickly herded them behind the unstable wall that held the window between spawn and the middle pit, and no sooner did a sniper's bullet whiz into the wall where they had been standing.

"I think I've pinpointed the enemy sniper," the Australian notified over the mercs' earpieces. "This Tracer lady apparently knows the bloke, and get this: it's a girl." Another whizz could be heard through the microphone. "Sheila's a damn good shot, too. She's definitely outside of the base, and I reckon none of what's up there's too stable to hold a person. You should be fine if you keep to the edges."

Soldier briefly peered out from behind cover to survey the arena. Dotted around the arena were groups of the black-clad who didn't seem to hold any interest in coming to fight them. From what he could see, they were on all levels, positively scouring the area for whatever they were looking for.

"My team's gonna take the lower route," the Engineer commented. The three of them descended the stairs shortly thereafter, leaving Soldier alone with the two men in ridiculous brown outfits.

"Listen up, hippies. I don't care what you do as long as you stay out of my way. That means don't make me save your sorry little ass, and don't even THINK about stealing my kills. Is that understood?"

The cowboy whipped out his pistol and shot down one of the smaller groups with just as few shots. "Yeah, whatever. They might even all be dead before you stop talking."

The Soldier grew so livid at the comment that the ground beneath his feet literally exploded. _I'm going to show those maggots what real killing looks like,_ he thought as he propelled through the air from his rocket jump. He couldn't deny that it did feel like it had been a long time since he had felt the exhilaration of hazardous flight, but it didn't stop him from pegging two rockets right in the middle of groups of baddies on his way down. Old metal rattled from the impact of his landing on the lower deck, threatening to collapse. He ducked under the ramp as a few soldiers from the other side attempted to shoot him and began reloading his gun.

He then heard two loud gunshots, and his feed displayed that Sniper and Medic had both been killed.

"Yo, what da hell happened to we should be fine?" questioned the Scout over the intercom, accompanied by the sounds of more gunfire.

"It appears that the Soldier has, once again, abandoned his post to go on a killing spree. I bet those hooligans took the opportunity to betray us," the Spy reprimanded.

"Can it, crouton, I'm SUPPOSED to be killing these guys!" the Soldier defended.

* * *

Things weren't looking so good for the Heavy and Demoman. The two power classes had forged their way into the middle room, but the Medic was sniped the moment he stepped onto the connecting balcony. A few burly members of the invading group were carrying high-powered explosives launchers, but the technology was foreign to the demolitions expert. Much of the cover had been destroyed in the ensuing fight, forcing the mercs to retreat back to the room next to the stairs.

"If yer done yappin', we could use a hand here! They really brought the good stuff now," the Scot cut in to the conversation on the line.

"Heavy does not have infinite ammo," the Russian added. He had dealt with many one vs. many situations in the past, but they were never equipped with adequate protection or weaponry. This group was the exception to that, and the difference it made was enormous. He wished he had his assortment of new weapons with him as well, particularly a fresh Sandvich that he could refresh himself with.

His train of thought was interrupted by a large explosion that originated in the middle of the group. It was a similar cyan blast to the ones produced by the enemy weapons, and it was powerful enough that half of the room crumbled from the impact. The rubble collapsed onto the main arena below, blocking the stairs sending much of what was left of the lower deck careening into the abyss. A cyan figure zipped out of the falling structure right in front of Heavy, and his natural reaction was to rev his gun. Just before he hit the trigger, he recognized the person as the one from the respawn room.

"Woah, woah, woah, big guy!" she cried, putting her hands in the air.

A mighty guffaw came from the Demoman. "Woo-hoo, haven't seen an explosion like THAT in a long time! How'd ye get one o' those?"

The lady pouted. "Is now really the time for that, love?"

* * *

The Spy took a breath of fresh air as he exited one of the side doors to the base, which was disguised as a run-down power station. The late afternoon sun still bleated down, and he took a moment to accustom himself to the outdoors after so long. He was also listening for the sound of the sniper's gun, but he knew that a good one would have heard the door and taken a look around. He quickly found a hideout behind a rock where he could see the door and any approaching angles. After about fifteen seconds, a combination of his wit, impatience, and the heat of the sun compelled him to hunt the sniper for himself. It didn't take long for him to spot a humanlike figure hiding in the crevices, in a spot a less avid observer than himself would have much trouble finding. Making sure to avoid kicking up as much dust and rocks as possible, he slunk around some large rocks to where he could get a good shot with his Revolver. He peered around the corner and nearly tripped when he saw that the figure had disappeared.

"Looking for me, mon amie?" a female French voice called.

That time, he did stumble a little, as the sniper fully revealed herself on the backside of the boulder she was hiding under. In a moment, he took in her curves, the half-bodysuit, and the long hair. Her voice was smooth and suave, and it carried the same debonair that his did. However, he knew better than to get distracted, and he also analyzed her blue skin, the rifle in her hand, and the eight-lensed mask that somehow allowed her to see through his invisibility.

"I am not nearly so foolish as that bushwhacker on your team," she continued in French. "Come, allow me to get a better look at you." She pressed a button on her mask, and it retracted to show her face. She placed her weapon on the rock and stood there expectantly.

The Spy decloaked, removed his disguise as a Talon soldier, and holstered his Revolver. He brushed some dust off of his suit as he allowed her to scan his handsomeness. The two slowly approached each other until they were at arm's length. With a flick of her wrist, Widowmaker extended a syringe from her wrist and jammed it into the Spy's abdomen, inserting a liquid that caused him to collapse instantly, dead.

"Hmph, I expected more from these so-called professionals," she whispered to herself, before heading back towards her rifle. Right as she was about to pick it up, she was suddenly put in a hold as a loud noise revealed the Spy with his knife to her neck.

"Perhaps this is what you were looking for?" he mocked with a smirk. "The camper may be a fool, but he at least knows my tricks." Using his free hand, he reached into one of the pockets in his suit and pulled out a small, ornate card with his class symbol on it. He inserted it underneath her outfit right below her collarbone, issuing a chuckle as he did so. He then released his hold and folded his butterfly knife with a few maneuvers.

"Until we meet again, mon cheri," he said in parting, as he re-donned his disguise and made his way back towards the door. The female simply stood there, bewildered at the intimate encounter.

* * *

"I must say, those are some mighty fine machines you got there," the Engineer complimented to the mysterious cyan-garbed lady. The trio had taken the long way through the lower route in order to avoid the sniper, and had made it as far as the center room. While a sizeable portion of the crowd had been cleared by the three roamers, even the combined might of Mini Sentries and Sentry Turrets was making little headway towards the stairs due to the sheer number of reserves. _I wonder where they got so many?_ he pondered.

"They are paltry compared to some of the marvels my company has created," she responded. "I cannot ignore the effort your own devices have contributed, even if they are constructed of such simple materials."

The Engineer shrugged. "I don't know what you're expectin'. Didn't we establish that this is the future?"

"I suppose that is true."

They slowly made progress. In the close quarters of the hallway, the Pyro was able to make swift work of many of the assailants. Whenever it had to resupply, the builders would place their turrets in its place. Both of them were a fan of systems, and it worked rather well for them.

"Last thing for me to do is place a Teleporter by the entrance," Dell remarked, placing his Dispenser against the wall.

"You can build teleporters as well?" Symmetra replied, stunned that such primitive technology could possibly match anything of Vishkar's cutting-edge advancements, let alone one of its newest inventions. Then again, the vending machine he had constructed was able to heal and infinitely dispense ammunition, which was unlike anything she had seen its engineers come up with.

"Why, yes ma'am. They probably ain't as powerful as your modern ones, but they do the job all right." As another wave of attackers entered the hallway, he dropped a full-sized Sentry Gun and quickly departed up the stairs before she could respond.

 _I think I will amend my previous assumption that these mercenaries are all mindless killers,_ she thought as she grabbed her Photon Projector and faced the oncoming onslaught.

McCree watched in disbelief as the so-called Soldier blew himself up. His attention was soon diverted as he heard the blast of a shotgun, and he turned around to see the properly hatted sniper fall over. Behind him stood a familiar figure wrapped in black robes and a white skull mask.

"Looks like someone's been making some new friends," Reaper spoke, kicking the Sniper's corpse aside and raising a shotgun to each of the agents. "And they're just as pathetic as you are, I see."

"What, you thought there was just one of them?" McCree responded. He instinctively rolled to the side as Reaper started unloading his shotguns at him. He returned fire with his Peacemaker, but the bullets phased through the black mist. Several Talon agents rappelled down from the top of one of the overhanging rooms and blocked Bahrān before he could act against the assassin. McCree retreated towards the tape room, because he couldn't allow his old mentor to see the secrets kept down there.

Reaper continued his advance, cornering McCree with more bursts from his shotguns. "Hah. Did you really think we weren't expecting those fools? It seems Overwatch hasn't been doing its homework."

"Funny, because I don't see them fighting on _your_ side." He thought he heard noise coming from below, which was all he needed to take his gamble.

A cackle came from behind the mask. "And look what help that's done you. They're worthless streetfolk with guns made of paper. We're here for something far more valuable." He brought his shotguns up to McCree's temple. "Now DIE!"

A shot went off, and McCree watched the shotguns fall from his head to the floor. Reaper let out a raspy roar of pain as he examined the holes that had appeared in his hands. He stumbled backwards, and the previously dead Australian emerged from the tape room. "Didja think I was gonna go down that easily, ya wanker‽" he insulted. The team's medic and the insufferable rocket man also entered the room and backed him up. From the entrance, the two larger mercenaries and Tracer stood guard. Bahrān, though worse for the wear, blocked the side exit, and he was quickly joined by the Scout.

Realizing he was surrounded, Reaper began to dissolve into a black shroud and flee towards the main chamber. "Rrgh, I'll be back. You lot are dead men walking, and the Reaper comes for all…"

"I'd love to revel in the victory, loves, but we gotta get moving! This place is gonna come down any minute now from all the fighting!" Tracer exclaimed.

With a round of silent nods, the mercenaries rushed back into the secret room to grab their collections of weapons and the radio. The Teleporter came online and the Engineer and Pyro joined them. Most of the fighters lined up for the Teleporter, but the faster members decided it would be quicker to walk. They noticed that Talon was also retreating from the crumbling base, a black hovering helicopter having burst through the ceiling. The entire facility shook as the large reactor in the center finally gave in, taking large portions of the metal structures and a few unfortunate Talon goons with it.

The Spy was waiting at the main entrance, and with a little tinkering, he tricked the secret door into opening, flooding the dusty old room with light. Tracer stepped outside and remotely called the dropship while Symmetra concentrated on building her own teleporter. When the blue cylinder blinked into existence, everyone's attention was turned towards it.

"I am glad I had the foresight to build one side before our departure. Our transport is certainly incapable of holding all twelve of us. Unfortunately, my teleporters are unoptimized, so only six people can be transported before it shuts down."

"This is a trap if I've ever seen one!" the Soldier protested. The rest of the team shared uneasy looks, as they weren't completely trustful of this group even after their cooperation.

"The alternate is leave you here on your own," Bahrān counterargued. "I think you know well that settlements do not exist in the area."

Silence fell upon them again. Eventually, the Heavy stepped up once again. "Heavy and Doktor shall go first. Puny traps are no match for Sascha!"

It was the Overwatch team's turn to give confused looks at the mention of a supposed other member. The Scout snickered a little and opted not to tell them about the Russian's little obsession.

As no further objections were raised, Heavy and Medic jumped through the portal, vanishing into light particles. The Engineer was quick to be the next to volunteer, as he was positively giddy to feel how someone else's teleporter would feel. The Soldier vehemently refused to use it, and the Scout was stalling because he wanted to be on the aircraft with Tracer. This left the rest of the team to take the plunge into the glowing device. The dropship arrived shortly thereafter, much to Tracer's relief. The ship was loaded, boarded, and departed in short time, so that Talon wouldn't be able to make an attack.

Once they were safely in the air and on their way towards Gibraltar, Symmetra finally realized something that had been nagging at her. "Whatever happened to that masked... creature with the flamethrower?"


	7. Passing Time

The Medic never expected that two teleporters could feel so different. Although his doctorate was in medicine and not physics, they both used advanced technology. Tools that relied on similar principles usually had similar effects as well, as his various Medi-Guns did. However, the sensation he felt when travelling through the eye-like portal was hardly even comparable to the reliable pads he was accustomed to. The feeling was, well, he wasn't sure what it was. He was sure that he wanted to experiment, to find out how and why. Unfortunately, the eye immediately shut once the other four members had been warped through and the machine powered down completely.

He surveyed the large room they had been taken to. It was absolutely massive, and the large doors at the far end were clearly designed for vehicles of equal size. The only problem was that it was completely void of said vehicles, and cobwebs and dust adorned much of the walls, crates, and other surfaces.

"So… what now?" the Sniper asked.

The Spy walked towards the door, taking out a kit of some kind. "I'm going to explore. A good assassin always has an escape plan. Not that you would know anything about that, seeing as you hide five miles from your kills. Ahahaha!"

The Frenchman examined the lock on the door. There was only a tiny scanner in the wall, to which he responded by taking out his Disguise Kit. First, he lit a cigarette, then he pressed a few buttons, causing smoke to envelop his person. When it dissipated, he was wearing a paper mask with the face of that cowboy on it. The Medic watched him put his face up to the scanner, only for it to buzz loudly and not unlock the door.

"Ah, the old mask trick. Never fooled anyone then and still doesn't now! What a great escape plan you thought of," the Sniper retaliated, having himself a good laugh.

The Spy angrily ripped off the mask and threw it at his rival, thought it was caught by air resistance and fluttered to the ground. "I don't suppose you have any better ideas?"

By this point, the Medic grew disinterested and turned back to the empty room. He noticed a few posters stuck to the walls nearby, and he went over to examine them. The first one that caught his eye was a photo of a large group of people making heroic poses. On the bottom of the poster, written in large letters, was the word, "Overwatch". A few of the characters stood out, such as the lady with angel wings, the armored colossus that looked almost larger than the Heavy, and…

"I zhink you all might want to see zhis," he called.

The Spy had, for some reason, already started his way over, and was there in only a moment. He leaned in to get a better look at a particular figure, his lit cigarette dangerously close to setting the poster on fire. "Hmm. Very interesting," he stated as if it was a clear fact. "Zere is no denying that we are in the correct place, then. Ah, you can see the cowboy and the bodybuilder here as well."

"Does that mean we're going to be seeing all of these whackjobs?" the Sniper asked.

"My initial observation iz no. Zhis photo and zhis place are clearly quite old, and I doubt that many of zhe people shown here are part of zhis group any more. You remember what six months did to us, ya?"

A scoff came from behind the blue balaclava. "I remember you betraying us for those grubby old men, yes."

The Medic was about to retort, but the locked door suddenly swished open, turning all six of their attentions towards it.

Crouching through the doorway was the same towering figure from the poster, carrying the same man-sized hammer and wearing the same battered silver armor. The only difference was that he wasn't wearing his helmet, revealing an old face with equally gray hair connected to a thick moustache, and his milky left eye had a vertical scar crossing it. A grin flashed on his face as he observed the six mercenaries standing in the bay. "You must be our new guests. Welcome to the future!" he announced with a booming voice.

His introduction was met with five glares and readied weapons. A devilish grin crossed the face of the sixth one. He stepped forward and cleared his throat to call the man's attention to him. "Hello zhere! I can always tell a German voice vhen I hear one! Tell me, are we back in my homeland? I haven't visited in quite some time."

A laugh came from the gray-clad giant, equally as loud as before. "Oh ho ho, a native German living in New Mexico? Sounds like quite the tale. But, no, we are not. Where we really are, well, is a conversation to have once your other friends arrive."

"How long is that gonna to be, anyway? I don't got all bloody day," the Sniper asked.

"Hmm. It is, uh, about three und a half hours flight from New Mexico to here," the larger German answered. "Maybe a little longer, since we must avoid air traffic controllers."

The Spy pocketed his revolver, seemingly content with the German's peacefulness. The other mercs lowered theirs in response. A small silence ensued, and it was ended by the Heavy joining his Medic and sizing up the equally as girthy man. "Heavy is surprised to find man as giant as me," he commented.

The armored one gave him a full examination with his one good eye. "I am impressed, myself! I am so used to looking down at everyone. One day, we must wrestle!"

"Da. Heavy will win. "

The smile faded from the other German's face.

"So, what are we gonna do in those three hours? I, for one, haven't had a single drink since waking up from that pod thingy," the Demoman asked.

"Hm. I suppose it is getting late in the day, and it has been quite long for you, I'm sure. One drink to settle you in wouldn't hurt, ha ha!" the German answered.

"Speak for yourself, Reinhardt," a new, female voice interrupted from the hallway. The door opened itself again, and a figure slipped between the frames of the door and of Reinhardt. The Medic had to keep himself from laughing maniacally when he saw what she was wearing. There is only one kind of person who wore a white coat and formal pants, and that was a doctor. Her voice sounded somewhat German as well.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of the lady's voice again. "It will be trying enough to run medical examinations on nine people with no records and who have been sustained on who knows what for who knows how long. The last thing I need is for them to be intoxicated as well," she spoke, diligently tapping away at some sort of glass screen in her hands.

"Ah. Well, perhaps afterward," Reinhardt suggested.

Hearing about the examinations made the Medic unable to hold in his excitement any longer. _Finally, someone who will appreciate my scientific miracles! And to think of the improvements that have been made since then! It's like all of my dreams have come true!_

"Yes, it is unfortunate zhat my records have been lost. But zhat's okay, I know my work inside and out! And can I just say how exciting it is to see Germans with such prestige!" he exclaimed, grabbing her hand and shaking it vigorously.

The angelic lady chuckled a little before hastily retreating her hand from his grip. "You flatter me, but I am actually Swiss. Doctor Angela Ziegler, at your service. I take it you are the team's doctor?"

"Medic iz my official title. I keep zhem alive, and in return, zhey participate in my experiments."

"Experiments?"

"Natürlich, Fräulein Ziegler. Medicine does not advance itself!"

"Hm. I wouldn't think such tests would be valid in the field, but I digress." She turned her attention towards the other mercenaries in the room. "Now, as I have stated, I will need to personally evaluate each of your health before you can be cleared to travel around the facilities. We don't need any sort of infection running around her, especially because you are from a different continent. Understood?"

"A different continent?" the Engineer asked. "On a three-hour flight?"

The two Overwatch agents looked at each other. "Uh, yes. Flight has come a long way recently," the gruff voice of Reinhardt answered.

"We can discuss it more when the rest of our teams are back. For now, let's get a move on," Mercy concluded, then left the room.

Medic turned to look at his team, which wasn't moving. He straightened his posture and adjusted his lab coat. "Do not worry, mein kameraden. I vill make sure everyzhing goes correctly." He then followed in Mercy's footsteps.

* * *

"Oh, you mean da Pyro? Pffffft, that freak'll be fine. Always shows up when you least expect it to," the Scout answered.

The scrawny man had stretched himself across no less than three of the limited chairs there were in the dropship, and was absently tossing a highly worn baseball around. Next to him was the Soldier, who was sitting with his arms crossed and his shotgun in his lap. When he had boarded the ship, he promptly proclaimed himself in charge and assumed that position so he could watch for any "funny business," as he had put it. She couldn't tell if he has since fallen asleep, as his eyes were covered by the oversized helmet he continued to wear outside of combat. Since it meant not dealing with his clear lack of sanity, nobody minded leaving it be.

"And you are not worried about he or she having encounters with other people?" she continued.

"Dat ain't my problem," he responded quickly, and got up and went towards the pilot's cabin. From Symmetra's left, McCree sighed, before making a mumbled comment to Bahrān; from what she could hear, it sounded like it was something related to a bet.

No later than when the Scout opened the door, he was pushed back out by an irate Brit. "For the fourth time in the last hour, no, we are not there yet!" she said angrily. "And before you ask, my chronal accelerator will NOT make us go faster!"

The Scout lowered his hand, and it was clear he was about to make that suggestion. The door to the cockpit slammed closed, and the room fell into silence again. _These mercenaries don't seem to be quite the menaces the lady in the recording stated them to be,_ Symmetra pondered. _They were effective in that fight with the Talon agents. Their weapons, for being a hundred years old, were remarkably effective, though from what Tracer said, they didn't stand a chance against modern arms_.

That thought gave her an idea. She excused herself from the room and opened the door to the cockpit, only to duck as she narrowly avoided being punched in the forehead by Tracer. The pilot quickly realized what she had almost done and gasped. "Oh, Symmetra, love! I'm so sorry! Did you need something?"

"I wish to speak with Torbjörn using the communications up front. That is, if I will not be given a compound fracture."

"Heh heh. Sorry again. Yeah, sure, go ahead! I was getting kinda lonely, actually."

Symmetra stepped in and Tracer closed the door behind her. "If I may ask, whatcha want to talk to him about?"

"Improvements."

* * *

A cheery sun shone down on the lush mountainside. He had almost reached the top, and from there he knew he would be able to find what he was looking for. He began to whistle his favorite song as he hiked, and recalled the lyrics to it.

 _Do you believe in magic_  
 _In a young girls' heart?_  
 _How the music can free her whenever it starts?_

Free… that's what she was. Free from that old hag who refused to play with her. Told her to have fun with those men in the playgrounds. It was fun, for a time. But after a while, it got old. There was nowhere you could play hide and seek, because you knew all of the nooks and crannies. Even her playmates knew it. They started playing like machines, with no love in their eyes. They became more interesting in burying treasure than playing tag. But now, they're gone. She would search for new friends. As she came upon the crest of the hill, she brought her attention back to that search.

He looked around at the surrounding landscape. Green everywhere, but no buildings. No buildings meant no people. He could hear a wind chime, but he couldn't see it. The only thing nearby was an odd statue. It looked like a human, with thin, silver skin. Its eyes were closed and its hands shaped like the radical sign turned upside-down. Its giant, golden legs were folded over each other, and a red cloth sat in the middle. A series of orbs were floating in a circle around it.

With nothing better to do, she decided to sit down in front of it. She crossed her legs in a similar fashion, laid her head in her hands, and watched it. She learned that the sound was coming from the orbs, which were sporadically lighting up and emitting the dingling. It was oddly calming.

 _I'll tell ya about the magic,_  
 _It'll free your soul._  
 _But it's like trying to tell a stranger about rock n' roll!_

"What brings your strange soul here, lost one?" the statue spoke.


	8. 100 Years in the Future

Eight sat against nine in the main conference hall of Watchpoint: Gibraltar. On one side of the long, glass table was the team of mercenaries, missing their Pyro. On the other was Winston and the Overwatch agents who had responded to his Recall thus far: Reinhardt, Mercy, Torbjörn, Tracer, McCree, Mei, Genji, and Bahrān. Symmetra was working on her project, as the mercenaries were not a concern of Vishkar's.

There was but one item placed on the table itself: the old radio, carrying Ms. Pauling's final message. Once everyone had settled down, Tracer stood up and zipped to the head of the table. "Thank you all for coming, it's been one hell of a day and I'm sure everyone's confused. This radio here ought to help clear things up."

She pressed the play button and the recording began. Despite the female's voice that was speaking, the room felt silent as everyone but the few who had heard it took in its new information. When it had finished, the weight of the event could almost be seen in the air.

The Texan cleared his throat. "I do believe that you have yet to tell us exactly how long we've been out," he commented, recalling their first conversation.

"Uh, yes, well…" she mumbled, shrinking into herself as she couldn't bear to break the news. Winston got out of his chair, which drew the attention of the mercenaries.

"There's… no easy way to put this," he began, "As you're well aware, you were hidden in a remote and secret base in an area of little value. It was a long time before-"

"Yes, we know. Can you get to the bloody point?" the Sniper interjected.

"Right. Uh, you see…" he started again. He sighed, adjusted his glasses, and put on a straight face. "The current year is 2078. You have been in some sort of stasis for a hundred and ten years."

The eight time travelers visibly recoiled, and the Overwatch agents could see the horror in their eyes. For a few moments, everyone was as still as a statue. The first to move was the Demoman, who slammed his fist against the table with all of his might, as if it held one of his signature bottles of alcohol. The impact cracked the glass screen and shorted the computer that was embedded into the surface. With a snort, the Heavy rose, his anger apparent enough that Reinhardt mirrored him in case he resorted to violence. The Scout and Spy both stood as well, the former letting out a shout before turning and running as fast he could out of the room. The Frenchman broke his cigarette in half and flicked it onto the table.

"One… hundred… YEARS‽" he shouted. Everything he said after that was in French, but it was easy to tell from his threatening gestures that it was laden with curses and insults. The Sniper soon stood, his hat covering his heart, and, surprisingly, put his free hand firmly on the livid assassin's shoulder and spun him to face him.

"Get a grip on yourself, wanker!" he commanded. The mad look in the usually composed man's eyes was the only thing that prevented him from slapping the balaclava-covered face.

The Spy quickly threw the hand off. "Get a grip? Get. A. GRIP‽ Are you that much of a simpleton? My entire fortune is gone! Everything I lied, cheated, stole, killed for with my own two hands, for decades, has been thrown away by that wretched _chienne_ and her damned pet! We saved their asses after they carelessly allowed that gray idiot to take their precious metal, and instead of groveling at our feet like good little _paysans_ , they KILLED US!"

By this point, he was squeezing both of the Sniper's shoulders with his hands from his rage, to which the lanky Australian responded by mimicking the Spy's earlier action and swatting them off. "Well," he stated calmly, "Sounds like you can't take in what you've been dishing out, mate."

The Spy froze where he stood. Almost instantly, he regained his composure, readjusted his suit jacket and tie, and transformed into his usual upper-class self. "What they did goes far beyond some dime-a-dozen thief who doesn't know his rank," he said in almost a snarl. "That was supposed to be the end of our engagement. She got her rocks, and we finally got to be free of that hellhole. As far as I'm concerned, it still is." He turned around and proceeded to walk towards the nearest exit.

That last sentence was enough to knock the team back into its senses. Almost immediately, the other five mercenaries had gotten on their feet and were chasing after him. The Overwatch agents unanimously turned their attention to the man as well.

"I think circumstances have changed, pardner," McCree remarked. "Whoever this lady is that you've been talking is dead. You can't change what happened."

"Look, Spy…" the second Southerner added. "You don't know what's out there. None of us do. These folks here are offering to give us a place to stay and a helping hand, free of charge. Do ya really want to give that up?"

"Unlike you numbskulls, I know how to take care of myself," he answered snidely, not slowing down in the slightest as he neared the door, which opened smoothly at his presence. " _Au revoir_. See you in hell." That was the last they saw of him as he cloaked, and the door closed not long afterward.

The Spy's departure deflated the explosive atmosphere, and most of the room's occupants drifted away to wherever their thoughts or work carried them. The only two who remained were the Sniper and Genji.

"Do not worry about your friend," said the mechanical voice of the latter. The Sniper looked up at the man before him. Well, that was assuming he could even be called a man, as he appeared to be a robot that was uncannily human-like. Clearly, a hundred years had seen huge advancements to the choppy designs of Gray Mann's lookalikes.

He chuckled slightly. "Friend? I think you're mistaken. We were bloody enemies for years, but circumstances changed our employment."

"For enemies, you showed a lot of concern over his wellbeing."

"… heh. Someone's got to keep these hooligans' heads on straight. Unlike them, I've never really built attachments to much. Closest thing was my parents, and they died long before this incident. 'Sides, that loony group was looking for us, right? Last thing we want to do is go out right where they can find us. Who were they, anyway?"

"That is a very long story. There will be time to explain once your teammates are in better shape."

* * *

The Scout was running. He didn't care where in this damn base he was going. As long as he could run, he was going to be okay. They say running from your problems is unhealthy, because they'll catch up to you eventually. That just means he needed to run faster. Running got him this far, didn't it? The doors silently opened as he exited the building onto the rocky path outside and kept running. Where even was this far? A hundred years in the future and God knows how many miles away? And what for? To support his family, of course. But guess what, they're all fucking dead now. He vaulted the run-down gate to whatever place he had been taken to and kept running. What was he going to do now? He could keep running. Settle in a nearby town and try and start over. If this was a second chance at life, maybe he could try to do something more honest and less deadly. That job sure was a blast, though. Getting paid to kill morons is a once in a lifetime opportunity. That opportunity in this life would be waiting for him back there. He realized that, for the first time, he couldn't just run down a path, beat some people up, and expect everything to be okay. So, he stopped running. He didn't know how far he had gone, but the sun was still high in the sky. The base's exit was carved into a mountain, and as much fun as running downhill would have been, he wanted the strenuous exercise to burn off stress. He surveyed the area around him and noticed that the top of the hill wasn't too far away, so he hiked the extra distance.

He was greeted by an absolutely jaw-dropping view of the ocean. What he thought was some distant mountain base like the one at Thunder Mountain (though he wasn't really paying attention when they were coming here) was actually a giant rock on a peninsula. It was a clear day, not too humid or hot, and the sun was at a perfect angle to make the water sparkle as bright as a diamond. He looked downward and saw small bits of the base protruding from the cliff face, and further down, waves crashed against the base of the mountain. If he wasn't in such a shitty mood, it would be a perfect place to take Ms. Pauling on a date. Except she's dead, too…

No. She died, saving HIS life. And his teammates, if they count for anything. If he threw that away, then what she did would have been a waste. Nothing he could do would bring them back, so he needs to live on as they intended. Ma always said to keep your head up and your eyes forward if you wanted to get where you were going without bumping into some low-life with a gun. That's exactly what he was going to do. With that in mind, he ran back down the hill, enjoying the speed, and circled back into the base.

* * *

Loud clanking could be heard as the Demoman rummaged through the food supplies in the kitchen. Of course, it wasn't food he was looking for, but alcohol. Not only had he not ever gotten a drink from the previous night, but now he had something worth drowning his sorrows over. His mum was aging, and she really needed him to be able to take care of her until it was her time. Now, not only did that not happen, but she had to undergo the grief of outliving her own son. He was a disgrace for not preventing it. The cupboard door was shut angrily as he moved on to the next one. _Surely, they haven't outlawed me scrumpy, 'ave they?_

She was the only person he really cared about, too. Don't get him wrong, explosives are a thing of beauty, but they don't love you back in quite the same way. Once you blow them up, they're gone. Mum was much more special and permanent. Though she had done many questionable things in upbringing him, they all turned out for the better for him in the end. Maybe not for others, but such is the way of life. God, he missed her right now.

His search for liquor was finally accomplished as he opened one of the freezers. There were only a few bottles of rum in the large container, but it was better than nothing. He grabbed two and began returning to the table, opening one up and chugging about half of it before he even exited the kitchen. His old pal, the BLU Soldier, was waiting for him at one of the large tables in a nearby dining hall, and he sat down across from him and slid him the other bottle.

"We've gotten ourselves into a real mess now, Solly," he said, downcast.

"Yeah… The future? How dumb do they think we are? I have worn a robot suit FROM the future! It looks nothing like this!" the Midwesterner responded with a serious look in his eye.

"Yeh dun actually believe that, do yah?"

The Soldier scooched in closer and tilted his helmet to shield his eyes from something. "No, but this is all too suspicious, and we don't need them knowing that we know what's up. I heard them on the plane talking about this Overwatch thing. A group of people carrying out missions to save robots from brutal murder? Gimme a break. Everyone knows those rust buckets belong in Hell. This is a ruse, and I'm going to find out what's really going on."

"And yer going ta do that by usin' a cover up that still involves hating them?"

"Yes! They'll never know my true intenti– I mean, I do not know of this cover up that you speak of. I assure you that this is not the future that I have definitely been to!"

The Demoman guzzled the remainder of his bottle. _I love ya to death, buddy, but we gotta find ye a common sense._

* * *

Vibrations could be felt throughout the entire base as the Heavy and Reinhardt wrestled in one of the training rooms. If one were able to concentrate on their faces, they could see tears in one pair of eyes and compassion in the other. The Heavy had lost his family. The people he loved and worked his entire life to keep safe and well. He never got to speak to them after they left Russia. Hopefully, they did not hear of his death. And now he was here, burning his anger at Helen by having a strength contest with the one man on the planet larger than he was.

And he was winning. Not big surprise, really, given that his opponent was clearly aging. The man agreed to spar anyway, and he did not know why. Currently, he had Reinhardt face-up on the floor, and he was on top of him, attempting to pin his arms against the floor.

"Zhe only thing more scary… zhan a lion ready to strike… is one zhat is cornered!" the German man exhaled, before heaving the Heavy off to the side, creating another tremor. The two behemoths rose to their feet and resumed defensive stances.

"Good. Maybe you will scare me for once," the Heavy snorted back. The two then collided again.

Off to the side, the two doctors were observing the fight and chatting in German. Well, one of them was chatting.

"…when they called me in, they told me the man's organs were like a jigsaw puzzle. And I said, 'Of course! I arranged them that way!'" the Medic recalled, laughing.

Mercy looked disgusted at his story, and the Medic saw her right arm instinctively grab near her hip, where he knew she would likely have a gun if she was in the field. She stood up and backed away from him, which caught the attention of both of their giant companions.

"You what‽ What is wrong with you‽ I can't even count the ways that counts as malpractice! You could have killed the man, not to mention the money and supplies you wasted that could have gone to people who, you know, need treatment! What purpose did that even serve?"

"All in the name of progress, of course. He didn't die until getting into that unrelated accident, and now I have proven that we can reorganize organs all we like! Imagine the possibilities! Besides, you don't seem to have a problem with the transplants in any of my other patients."

The female doctor's face was a vivid pink, and sweat glistened on her forehead. "You… you DARE call yourself a doctor? You should only have visited an asylum as a patient!"

"No need to get upset. After all, it was MY research that allowed us to survive in stasis for a hundred years!"

Those words had an effect on the irate lady, as she did not respond. She turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, still breathing heavily. At this point, Reinhardt walked intimidatingly towards the other German, but the Heavy stepped alongside and blocked his path.

"Ah, excuse that little exchange," the Medic said, standing up and standing behind and to the right of his beefy partner. "She merely does not approve of my particular field of study."

Neither of the wrestlers had paid enough attention to the discussion to know any better, so they stood down and the three followed in the direction Mercy left.

* * *

"Okay, you win. I owe ya a drink," said a Swedish voice.

"I told you, nobody beats my granddaddy," a Texan one replied.

Dell and Torbjörn, like any good inventor, put a wager on whose Sentry Gun was better. Though Torbjörn's was sturdier and could generate its own ammo, the Engineer's was stronger, could hold its Level 3 build stably, and most importantly, was portable. Both of their machines were now deployed in the Swede's workshop.

"I'm surprised you don't have nothing like my Dispensers. Would certainly help out that overworked doc of yours," the Engineer commented.

"We had something better: A pocket version. One of my teammate carried one at all times, even. They aren't so useful when you're not in the field, though."

"I suppose. What about ammo?"

"The robots were smart. Their anti-aircraft would destroy any supply drops we tried to bring. That's when we developed rechargeable barrels," Torbjörn explained, rummaging through his desk and pulling out a rivet gun with a bunch of attachments, as well as a blueprint. He cleared a space and set them down, and the Engineer came closer to inspect it.

"My gun works differently than most others. As you can see, the loading chamber takes molten steel and builds rivets right there in the barrel! And over there," he continued, pointing at a large, back-mounted reactor, "is my Personal Forge, that makes all the molten steel I could ask for!"

"That's mighty impressive, Mr… uh, Tornyorn, was it?" the Engineer asked awkwardly.

"Torbjörn."

"Ah, sorry. My associates come from around the world like yours, but Sweden ain't one of them. Anyway, my guns operate a little bit differently. They're about as interchangeable as money can find. I can build, repair, and upgrade 'em all with spare parts that I find in these little crates around the map. To be honest, I hadn't thought of where they all come from. I was working on a metal generator of my own, but it appears to have been lost when we were cooped up."

"Since you mentioned it, how are you… holding up, as they say?"

The Engineer sighed. "I'm not sure. My family worked for that lady's family for a very long time. It was a nice life, being able to build whatever I wanted without worrying about none of them contracts or politics. Just me, my team, my machines, some fools dumb enough to get too close, and a sweet paycheck. But… a hundred years, it just ain't right. I feel like an outsider to this whole planet."

"Am I interrupting your guild meeting?" a female voice asked from outside. The Engineer turned towards the entrance to the workshop they were in to see the Indian woman he had worked with before peering in the doorway.

"Not at all, ma'am," he replied. "How many I help you?"

"I am looking for you, as a matter of fact. I need your assistance in a project I am developing. I suppose Torbjörn can join us as well," she answered.

"Sure thing. May I ask what it's about?"

"I believe you and your group are in need of an upgrade…"

* * *

Yeah, this isn't going to be very frequent. The super long gap this time was because _Sun_ & _Moon_ came out, and then it was the holidays. I didn't even think about this story until January.


	9. 100 Years in the Past

Winston experienced déjà vu as everyone sat at the table. Everyone had returned to an identical seating arrangement as before. The only indication that the last few hours had even happened was the glaring and expensive problem of the table being shattered and broken. Fortunately, the time gap had allowed him to find a backup hologram projector, which was placed in front of his seat at the head of the table.

"Uh, it's good to see that, um, you're all okay," he started. _Well, okay, Lena was the one that introduced us last time._ "I know it's a hard pill to swallow, being in the future. We haven't invented time travel yet, so there isn't really anything we can do. The best course of action is to look forward at the events that are about to unfold."

With a flicker, a holographic globe appeared out of the projector. A shining point appeared on the southwestern United States, and a dotted line drew itself across the globe to the southern tip of Spain. "The base we are standing in – I mean, sitting in – is on the Rock of Gibraltar, in Andalusía, Spain. In it, actually. It is one of the bases of the former agency Overwatch, a name with which I am told you all have become acquainted."

"Yeah, kinda," replied the baseball man. In another of his class acts, his dirt-caked baseball shoes were resting on the cracked table and he was rather obnoxiously chewing gum. "The hell's an Overwatch, anyway?"

"Overwatch," answered Reinhardt, "was an organization formed during the Omnic Crisis, where robots rebelled against humanity. They were winning, until we came along. Much blood was shed. Once it was over, we were hailed as heroes, and Overwatch ushered ze world into an age of unprecedented growth, progress, and glory."

"Then times changed," Torbjörn continued, "and the people did not want us anymore. You see, some individuals within the organization had made quite the bad name for themselves, and then for us all. You have met one of them already."

"Who, the enemy sniper?" the thin, tall one asked. _I wish I was better with names._

"She was related, but that's another can o' worms. Guy we're talking about's the cloaked one with the shotguns. Used to be my mentor, until things went south," McCree responded.

"What's wit that weirdo? He was tryna act all spooky, but he looked more like a wannabe gangster if ye ask me!" the Demoman commented. The man appeared to be drunk, which Winston didn't understand because Athena reported that the man had only had one bottle of rum. Of course, as a gorilla, he wasn't particularly interested in consuming alcohol nor was he knowledgeable on the subject.

"Wish we knew, loves. Wish we knew…" Tracer said. In reality, they did know who was underneath that mask, but that wasn't information that needed to be the concern of these mercenaries. Now that he was thinking about Gabriel, if it wasn't for the eyepatch, accent, and darker skin, the man who asked had a passable resemblance to him. It was almost uncanny.

"Anyway, in recent times, tensions have continued to rise over issues that Overwatch had concerned itself with. We are greatly worried that–"

A crack was heard as the man with the oversized helmet immediately slammed his fists on the table, sending more bits of glass flying. "You think you can get away with lies like that‽ Have you forgotten that this is an interrogation, soldier?" he yelled.

Winston flinched at the outburst. "Uh… what are you talking–"

"You do not have permission to SPEAK, monkey man! I have BEEN to the future and the puppet government looks nothing like this!"

An intense warmth was building inside the gorilla's body. He knew what it was, and he knew bad things were about to happen if this man didn't quiet down.

"There's no way in hell they'd let a chimpanzee like you enter this place! I bet you're just some moron inafhtgrmb–"

His tirade was cut off by the Reinhardt-sized man cover his entire face with one hand. Winston was glad, because he was mere seconds away from unleashing his rage on the outspoken and mentally unsound human.

The Russian looked directly at him, which caught his attention. "Excuse Soldier. Soldier dislike big men like Heavy and man-apes. Continue, Talking Gorilla Man."

Winston slouched down, though he hadn't realized he had stood to his full height to begin with. "I prefer Talking Gorilla _Scientist_ , if you don't mind," he huffed. "Now, uh… where were we?"

"The good part, where we all come back," Lena answered.

"Ah, yes. We are greatly worried that violence and war will erupt all over the world if nothing is done, which is why I have recalled all former Overwatch agents to return to service if they so please. Uh, as you can see, there hasn't been much of a response so far."

"We do what we can," Angela said. "Right now, our primary concern is a terrorist organization known as Talon. They are the people that attacked you when you first awoke. We believe they were after something located in your base. What can you tell us about what used to be stored there?"

The man with the hardhat stood up. "If I may, how can we be assured that we can trust y'all with this information? Your hospitality's much appreciated, but that don't mean y'all ain't butterin' us up to spill the beans."

"Mr. Engineer, allow me to help," Mei said. Winston would be lying if he said he hadn't partially forgotten that she was there. She hadn't spoken all day, and while she was a quiet person, it was never to this extent. "You have seen the general state of the base, yes? If we wished to extract this information for our own purposes, we would not use our rather scarce resources to persuade you in a choice that you could still easily refuse. Neuroscience has advanced sufficiently that, if we really wanted to, we could install implants that can read your stream of consciousness instead. It would be unethical, but… as they say, it is not cheating unless you are caught. I think you are well aware of that, Mr. Engineer." She paused for a moment, then wrung her hands together. "…Was that too dark? I didn't mean to scare you."

"No, that was quite alright, Mei. Thank you," Winston responded, giving the mercs another quick scan to see how they reacted. "Overwatch, at its heart, is a well-meaning organization. Trust me, I know well enough that everyone seems to have ulterior motives, but I assure you that we have none. To prove it, I promise that you can keep whatever it is we find, as long as it remains outside of Talon's clutches."

The one in a lab coat ushered to the others, and the seven of them gathered with their backs to the Overwatch team and could be heard mumbling. They continued for a few minutes before turning around.

"Alright. We'll talk," the Engineer announced. "There weren't nothing useful hidden in that base of ours, other than the broken nuclear weapon that collapsed on our way out."

"What," Tracer deadpanned.

"However, that base was never particularly important. What really matters is what's hiding in the other bases in the area: Information. You see, us nine mercenaries were hired by the most influential corporation the world's ever seen, even moreso than this one o' yours."

"More powerful than Overwatch?" Bahrān questioned.

"Well, yours was shut down, from the sounds of it. Imagine a group that runs in the background, layers upon layers of fronts, proxies, all sorts of loopholes to make it practically untouchable by the law. Add in an army of paper pushers and hired guns to enforce its will, and it practically took over the world. That's the sort of corporation we're talking here."

Angela put a finger up to her chin, clearly deep in thought. "Yet, it still does not exist today, as I take it? Overwatch certainly would have discovered evidence of such a thing in its prime, so it must be quite old. What would Talon want with a group like that? Trade secrets?"

"Australium," the Sniper hissed. "They're after the bloody Australium."

"Australium?" Genji asked in a confused tone.

The baseball man removed his shoes from the table and stood up. "Snipes, are you sure 'bout this? Didn't da Australium run out when we fought those old coots?"

"I dunno, mate, there could easily be more. We never found a whole lot of it, even when trying to keep it out of their hands."

"Could ya tell us what it is?" McCree asked, his smooth Southern accent contrasting with the metallic tone of Genji's voice.

The Engineer and the doctor turned towards each other and began speaking in hushed tones. The other mercenaries started gathering around and joining the discussion.

"HEY!" Reinhardt boomed, startling everyone in the room. "We would like to know what this, uh, Austrialum is."

"Uh, right." The Sniper adjusted his hat slightly. "Australium is the real powerhouse behind this corporation of ours. Found only in the good ol' outback, exposure to it literally gives you superpowers. The details aren't important, but needless to say, when you own a monopoly on the stuff, you get to do whatever you want."

"… Superpowers," Torbjörn said flatly. "I knew something was fishy about this story. This is all some sort of joke, isn't it?"

"Look, you asked us to talk, an' we did. I dinnae what else ya want," the Demoman retorted.

"The truth would be nice," the Swede muttered.

"Now now, Torbjörn, no need to get defensive," Winston interfered. "However, he does have a point. In all of our years of science, we've never heard of this Australium you speak of. And we've documented just every naturally occurring element and isotope on the planet."

"Well, you missed one," the Engineer said. "Not surprising, really. Every ounce of it has been dug up and hidden away, just like we were. There are caches all around the world, and y'all just stumbled upon the only corner where you can learn to find it. I bet yer adversaries are lookin' for it right now."

"Let us not trifle time, then," Bahrān stated conclusively.

Everyone nodded in agreement, but a loud knock on the wall near the door caught everyone's attention. Winston recognized the flow of cyan as Symmetra, and the sound had come from her gauntlet, as she insisted it be called. He wasn't sure if it was an artificial limb or not, and it had been branded a Vishkar trade secret, so he expected he would never find out.

"Uh… how long have you been standing there?" he asked.

"Three minutes and twenty-four seconds exactly. I did not wish to interrupt, so I began counting to entertain myself," she replied. "However, now that you are finished, it would please me to make an announcement for our time-worn guests."

She was immediately responded by a growl of disapproval from the helmeted man. "It had BETTER be time travel, or I will come over there and time travel my boot right uphfermmph-"

 _I'm starting to understand what the man in the suit meant when he said he had enough of these guys,_ Winston thought.

* * *

With a click, two beeps, and a green light, the door to the room opened. A generic, middle-class white man in a suit walked into a room with a single bed, a larger and a smaller desk, both of which appeared to have projectors on them, and a nightstand. For the most part, standard fare for a hotel room on a business trip. He locked the door behind him and typed something in on the holo-tablet he was carrying. He began scrolling through some information on the tablet as he sat down on the bed, feeling the soft foam mattress relieve him of a long day of stress. The simple act of sitting was comforting enough that his skin began to melt off of his body. Pale, peachy biomass oozed down his arms and legs like caramel and pooled at his feet. The pile of skin flickered before disappearing in a digital puff.

Where it once seemingly held the man's head together was now a dark blue cloth that covered most of the space. A slight chuckle came from under the balaclava. "For a parlor trick, the Dramatic Reveal button on this kit was actually rather entertaining," he spoke softly to himself in French.

Of course, the man he was posing as used to be a real person. Some upstart businessman travelling to another country for an important finances talk. Wealthy, inconspicuous, and lost. The damn fool might as well have been walking around with a "Steal my identity" sign pasted to his back. Now he had a knife there.

Withdrawing his lighter from his pocket and one of his few cigarettes from his Disguise Kit, he lit up and sauntered over to the windowed side of the room. Not to go outside, of course – he had just disabled the security camera and the smoke detector, so there was no worry of getting caught. A hundred years had apparently made security _worse_ , as it wasn't any harder to steal the passcodes from the motel staff, and just about every appliance in the entire building was somehow connected to the pocket computer at his fingertips. It also contained a wealth of knowledge on how to extract all sorts of information, some of which could easily be taken using a connection called the Internet. Now that he was reflecting, it was rather strange that all of this would be stored on a businessman's device. He also wasn't sure who the "Sombra" who wrote most of what he read was, but he supposed he had to thank her for making it so easy.

Putting the matter aside in his mind, he contemplated his plan of action for the coming days as pale blue moonlight bathed his even bluer suit. Really, what he wanted to do was retire, but without his life's savings, he would have to find some high-paying income. Even then, it would pale in comparison to the many figures that sat in his bank account before, but he knew that crying over spilt milk wasn't going to get him anywhere. Turning away from the window, he sat at the desk. He jumped as a screen like the one on the tablet instantly materialized on the tabletop in front of him. It must also be a computer, he thought, so he mimicked what he had done earlier to access the database. _At the end of the day, as long as there's two people left on the planet, someone's going to want someone dead,_ he remembered Sniper saying. No, he needed to get that out of his head. He was done with those imbeciles. It was time for a new life, the one he should have taken instead of agreeing to fight the same people, over and over, in a desert for six years.

Over the next hour, he accumulated a very interesting and very familiar summary of what had gone on since 1972. The world, plunged in the very same war that they had fought against Gray Mann. The Overwatch strike team was formed to eliminate the threat, much as the nine of them had rather unwillingly taken on the job of stopping the invasion. The organization was heralded as saviors, but millions of combatants were dismissed without proper compensation or recognition and struggled in the war-torn global economy. They came to resent the group (much as he loathed Helen and the rest of Team Fortress) and, over time, convinced more and more people that it was overbearing and unnecessary. One group in particular gained a lot of traction, not to mention some very wealthy backers. It united, destroyed, or puppeteered most of the anti-Overwatch leagues, and even after the Petras Act sentenced Overwatch to death, would continue to grow its influence as a union of radical right-wing ideologies and especially of anti-Omnic sentiment.

The Spy say back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. It was very late, and his retinas were not used to these bright screens being everywhere. He was going to need a good night's sleep for the days ahead of him. While he didn't yet know where he was going or how to get there, one thing was clear: He was going to find Talon.

* * *

Updates for this story may be happening more rarely. I'm feeling inspired to write another story now that Orisa's been revealed.

EDIT: You're probably wondering why updates aren't happening even though this new story hasn't appeared. The short answer is that I got my hands on a Switch and a copy of _Breath of the Wild_. Plus, I'm in my final weeks of my first year at college, so don't expect any updates until June.


	10. Moving Forward

Symmetra led the group to a room not far from the presentation room. The room's perimeter was filled with more of the computer screen projectors like the one Dell had been seeing around the base, and in the center was a large table with a blanket covering it. Symmetra stopped in front of the table and turned around, and she had told him and Torbjörn to come up with her to unveil their surprise.

The Indian woman cleared her throat. "During the last day, I have been working tirelessly on a solution to a problem I noticed during that scuffle in the complex. Namely, the equipment of you mercenaries is woefully outdated and insufficient for the enemies you will be facing. With the input of your Engineer and Overwatch's weapons expert," she announced, deftly removing the large cloth, "I believe I have created suitable upgrades."

Dell surveyed his team's reactions, and he saw looks of uncertainty, caution, and mistrust. It wasn't all that surprising, really. They had, in general, been much less accepting of this new world than he was. He knew that most of them had lost a lot more than he did as well, but avoiding sentimental conflicts of interest was all part of being a trained killer. Right now they needed to keep moving forward and keep the Australium out of anybody else's hands.

After a moment, the other mercs began approaching the table at varying speeds. The first ones to reach the table were Sniper and Scout. Also not surprising, as the Scout would never turn down a fancy new way of killing people, and Mundy was a professional and would best understand the situation, along with Spy. _He'll come back eventually…_

He decided he ought to give some encouragement. "I know, they're very different than the stuff we're used to, but it's necessary. Our old arsenal barely held down those goons back at Nucleus, and they likely had consumer-grade equipment. We wouldn't stand a chance against a more serious foe, and without Mann Co., there ain't much we can do to patch 'em up."

The next to arrive was the Demoman. He still found it miraculous that, well, that he was alive with all that liquor in him, but also that he appeared to possess the ability to sober or drunken up at will. He was drunk only a minute ago, but now that it was time to handle equipment, he looked to be perfectly in his capacities.

"No need to worry, though. All this gun was made with input by yours truly, and I tried my best to make 'em familiar to our old gear. Even managed to include some functionality from our alternative weapons."

Finally, the Soldier, Heavy, and Medic approached their gear. He had taken extra measures with theirs to make them look similar to their current items, as he knew they were very attached to it and may not even want to switch. They began scrutinizing the new weapons, and Dell felt an uneasy feel to the air as his joint products were judged by some of the few people who truly understood quality weaponry. Even years of the questionable content Mann Co. provided couldn't stop seasoned eyes like theirs.

"Hm. Future weapon…" the Heavy said, picking it up and feeling its weight. "Will need testing. Worthless if can't kill like Sascha. Where is firing range?"

"That's… a good question," Winston answered. "The main practice facility when Overwatch was active was in northern Russia. It wouldn't be too hard to get there if we had the vehicle space, but alas, we were not prepared to have this many people join operations at once. I managed to find a deal on an ORCA, but it won't be here for a couple of days."

Torbjörn let out a guffaw. "I suppose you wouldn't know this because you coop up in your lab all day long, but every Overwatch facility is equipped with a basic training area for soldiers to use to keep in shape while on standby. Give me about five minutes and I will have it ready for you."

* * *

The Scout whistled as he jogged with his new Scattergun down to this training room. The gun felt surprisingly natural, though not nearly as smooth as the ones he was used to. He couldn't really blame Engie since he had to eyeball it, though. He had also been supplied with a new bat and two fancy pockets, one of which magically created baseballs and the other of which somehow refilled his Bonk! Atomic Punch canister. Lastly, he had been given a few cans of a special new soda that Engie had warned him about.

 _"I don't know how he did it, but the Swedish engineer was able to replicate that radioactive soda of yours. He also gave me these," the Engineer told Scout, showing him a can that was a strange orange and purple combination._

He looked at the label again. "NEW Crit-a-Cola" was plastered on it in a font that looked nothing like the usual stuff.

" _Says this stuff is just like those other sodas you used to drink. Gives you the speed, the crits, and the jumps. That being said, be careful. We don't have respawn no more, so I don't want you dying of ARS, ya hear?"_

The stakes were high. Higher than how he usually felt when drinking the stuff. He would have to hold back until he knew he needed it. In the meantime, he could still kill people with his baseballs.

First come, first served, they say, and naturally, he called dibs on getting the training room first. He entered a room that was long, rectangular, and completely empty. There were two sets of windows near the top, presumably the control room and the observation room if it was anything like the Walkway place back at base. The wall behind him had all sorts of gizmos and gadgets, but he was quite confused about how he was going to shoot things if there was nothing to shoot.

His answer was soon answered as the wall whirred to life. He covered his eyes as the devices shone blue lights sporadically. He turned around and saw that the blue light was forming into a variety of human-shaped targets, obstacles, and scenery throughout the room.

"Impressive light show, eh? Welcome to the training room!" a voice called over the intercom. The Scout recognized it as the Swedish engineer guy. His name was, like, Torsion or something.

"Yeah, I guess. Yo, is there any way to make these targets look like real humans and not cutouts? It feels better to have 3D target practice, if you know what I mean."

"Ehm… 'Fraid not, there."

"Aw, dat's boring."

Scout's heart skipped a beat when he heard a new voice from behind him. "Boring? I thought you loved killing people?" it said. He could recognize Tracer's sexy accent anywhere. Time to get his charm on. He ran his right hand through his hair real quickly and spun on his heels to see Tracer stretching in the doorway.

"'Sup, sweetcheeks. Couldn't resist saying hi to your favorite new compadre?"

Tracer laughed. "Ha! I wouldn't be down here, especially with _you_ , if I had anything better to do in this base. No excursions allowed while we're gearing up for a mission, though, so I thought I'd come relieve my boredom with a little game."

"A game?" The Scout grabbed his baseball from his magic pocket and tossed it in the air. "You wanna play ball?"

"Maybe later. I guess exercise is the better word for what I want to do. Basically, you and I compete to see who can hit more targets in a certain amount of time."

"Alright, I'm down. How long will I be kicking your ass for?"

"Oh, you think you're clever? I'm gonna send you home with your tail between ya legs. Let's say… five minutes, starting now. Cheers!" she exclaimed, blinking away immediately to get a head start.

"H-hey!" he exclaimed, taking a moment to register what just happened. _So that's how you wanna play? It's go time, tuts._

He ran into the simulated field. It was almost surreal, being surrounded by all this real-looking grass and rocks and such, but he had a mission now. All the nearby targets had been destroyed already, and he could see Tracer zipping around, a good sixth of the field already cleared. Without stopping, he lobbed his baseball into the air, jumped up, and gave it a solid smack from his new bat. It cracked satisfactorily and the Scout, still rotating from his momentum, entered into a roll as he landed while simultaneously switching to the Scattergun.

A split second later, a shatter could be heard, followed by Tracer screaming. _Right on target,_ the Scout thought amusedly before shooting another of the two-dimensional humans. What he had done, a product of his own genius of course, was simultaneously kill steal and use scare tactics. The ball had sailed straight into the constructed skull of the target nearest his competitor, and the speed of the impact showed that his bite was as bad as his bark. It worked a lot better than warning shots, especially with the short range of his gun.

The trick had only bought him a few seconds, but that was all he needed to make up what she had gained at the start and even the score. He could feel the adrenaline running as he sprinted, jumped, and climbed his way around the practice battlefield, destroying any targets that sprung up or that he discovered. His pulse raced every time he looked over at Tracer to see her keeping pace with him, travelling like blue lightning. He hadn't had this much fun in a long time, and killing the same old dudes over and over had gotten really stale. Maybe being in the future wasn't so bad after all.

Soon, the field had been entirely emptied. The Scout tossed aside the last spent shell from his Scattergun and looked around for any more as he caught his breath. On a rock not too far away, he saw Tracer was doing the same thing. Her time warping thing wasn't looking too hot.

He then noticed a single target near the middle of the field, which proceeded to duck down behind a pile of wood it was next to. Against his better judgement, the Scout flashed her a sly grin before running off towards his victory. He was halfway there when he looked back and saw that she was pursing him on foot. Too easy.

He jumped on to the wood pile and cocked his gun behind it to see the glowing figure. Tracer shouted something that he wasn't really paying attention to, but he probably should have because he suddenly found his feet swept from underneath him as he was tackled at full force.

The two of them tumbled a few times down the incline the wood was on, before coming to rest as a couple of ragdolls. Both were panting and exhausted. The Scout could feel the heat of her breath, but more importantly of her chest device, lying very close to him.

"Call it… even…?" he exhaled.

"Sure… thing…"

The Scout didn't have the energy to respond any further, so he contented himself on the virtual dirt floor for a bit. Once he had calmed his breathing, he sat up and looked over to see her still on the floor.

"You all right dere?"

"Yeah… overdid my accelerator a tad. It needs some time to cool down."

"'K."

It felt like minutes before she stirred and sat up next to him. He had interested himself in the fake grass, but stopped when he noticed her.

"Y'know, you're not all bad," she said, "especially for an American."

He snorted. "Same to you, Brit." The two of them stood and started walking towards the entrance. "I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot."

"I mean, yeah, you hit on me before you were even walking in a straight line. Not a good first impression."

"Hows about we start over?"

"Look, Scout, I…" she responded with a pause. "I'm sorry, but I have a girlfriend already."

"A girlfriend? Wait, a GIRLfriend? I, ah, uh, I see. Well, uh, guess I should probably, uh, stop. Yeah, I'll stop talking now."

They passed through the doorway, but the Scout stopped walking. Tracer turned towards him.

"I don't think it would've worked anyway. Never date a coworker, and all that."

"Right, um, yeah. Hadn't thought of that. Well, see ya around, I guess. Nice working out with you," he concluded quickly, turning and jogging away without waiting for a reply.

* * *

The Soldier hated hand-outs, shiny weapons, strange gizmos, and non-Americans. If it wasn't pried from the cold, dead hands of one of those eastern hippies and killed things by pressing a trigger, it wasn't a real gun. Yet he found himself impressed with the smooth, transforming rocket launcher given to him by Lumpy the Dwarf. Engie said it had some variable launching crap that allowed him to make his rocket fly faster at the expense of blast radius if he held down a button over time. It was like his old Direct Hit and one of the Liberty Launcher models, and the ability to control it would be a huge buff to his murderability. They also gave him back his Equalizer, his B.A.S.E Jumper, and mashed all three of his banners into one.

He was also pretty sure that they were trying to distract his team from their conspiracy with shiny toys. The joke'll be on them when they use their new stuff to send them packing to Jamaica. In the meantime, he was practicing in the practice room. Commander gets first priority, of course, other than that twitchy Scout who got there first.

A curse swore out as he watched another of his rockets sail over the head of one of the fake blue targets he had knocked into the air. Having two buttons on his rocket launcher with his neck-snapping man hands was a bad idea. Who would think of such a terrible way to fire rockets?

"I remember having troubles with Overwatch weaponry as well," a deep voice said from behind. The Soldier turned around to see the black man with his oversized dirt shooter hefted onto his shoulder.

"You again," the Soldier grumbled.

"We are not enemies."

"That doesn't mean I like you."

"You don't like anyone."

"In MY army, soldiers must EARN my respect!" he said, marching up to Bahrān. The two stared each other down for a few moments.

"Fine. You want me to earn your respect? Athena, set the practice range to colosseum mode."

The Soldier watched as the entire room turned into cyan, then lost its color and became a giant mesh of lines, then disappeared entirely, leaving behind walls and a floor covered with strange contraptions glowing with the same light. What followed was an obnoxious light show as another jumble of lines formed around the room, filled in, and became colored. The two men became surrounded by faded brown walls, enclosing the room in a large circle with the exception of the room's entrance. To Soldier's left was a several-story building with windows and a balcony, and on the right was a bunch of nondescript, angular masses sticking out of the ground in such a way to create a couple of disconnected passages through the middle. They sat on opposite sides of the arena, and along with two white circles made a square with an edge facing the entrance.

"You. Me. Fight. First one unconscious loses. No holding back; I have confidence our healers can fix any damage we do."

"You're on, sissy!"

Without another word, Bahrān turned around and walked to the far end of the colosseum to step in one of the circles. Soldier likewise marched to the other circle, and the two faced each other down.

"On your marks, Athena."

"Doctor Ziegler will not be pleased to hear about this," a robotic, yet female voice echoed around the room. "Attack commences in 3… 2… 1… Fight!"

The Soldier already knew where to go. From atop the building, he could rain rockets down on this punk while remaining out of range of his pebble peashooter. As he walked closer to his destination, he noticed that his foe was mimicking his position. He didn't know if the building had an easy way up from the first floor, but in his experience, the answer was typically no as random people don't like having their houses busted into. Luckily, he didn't have to care about random people anymore because he's not going to hear shit from the Administrator about it anymore. The building was too tall to rocket jump straight to the roof, so he was going to need to bust in through one of the windows.

When he reached the foot of the building, he didn't hesitate in lining up his shot and firing. He braced for impact as he was sent flying with a trail of smoke and fire straight towards the third story. The glass easily shattered at the impact and he fell through, rolling as he hit the ground. He stood up and didn't even bother removing the glass shards his skin and clothes had picked up from the collision.

He didn't really have time to, either, as not long after he stood, the whole building shook and knocked him off balance. The entire area around the window was blown to smithereens as a boulder flew straight into it, creating a huge cloud of dust and sending chunks of debris everywhere. He covered his mouth with one arm and used his other hand to secure his helmet over his eyes and shield him from the dust.

Gathering himself off of the floor, he looked around for the stairs and was pleased to find that they were nearby. He had only taken a few steps when another crashing impact happened somewhere below, and he found that the world around him had become slanted towards the corner. That crazy idiot was planning on taking the whole building down with him inside, and it wasn't going to last long so he needed to think of a Plan B. Escaping from the hole that was just made would be too obvious and likely too time-consuming. He was pretty sure the stairs were just collapsed, too. There was only one other way out.

"AAAAAAIIIIIYAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, firing a rocket straight at the wall. It exploded outwards and he didn't hesitate in jumping right out of it, ignoring the heat and the smoke. By sheer coincidence, his foe was positioned right in front the spot he had made his improvised exit, and he seemed to have been startled by it. Perfect. As the Soldier fell, he released the charge button he was holding, launching a rocket that travelled at lightning speed. He could see Bahrān's eyes go wide, and he loved every second of it.

That love quickly turned to hate as the rocket soared over his enemy's head and exploded into the dirt far behind him. _Of all the times for this damn gun to fail…_ He landed roughly on his feet. For a moment, he locked eyes with the enemy, and the animosity between them could practically be felt. The Soldier quickly adjusted his helmet and it fell back over his eyes.

"You look tired. Act first, think later doesn't appear to be working out well for you."

"Why, you little…"

Keeping up the offensive, he shot the last rocket in the clip. The explosion could potentially hit him at such short range, but there was no way that fool would be able to get out of the way this time. Instead, the rocket exploded short of its target in a cloud of fire and a large amount of dust. He braced for impact and was knocked a consider distance off his feet, but he didn't fall over when he hit the ground again.

Now it was time for Plan C. He tossed the empty rocket launcher aside and whipped out his Equalizer. He ran straight through the lingering particles, taking advantage of the cover it provided to launch a surprise attack. He swung his pickaxe as hard as he could, the blunt edge of the spike colliding with Bahrān's cheek and providing a satisfying crunch as the impact knocked him to the ground.

"How's THAT for not working out well‽"

There was a groan from his opponent as he turned from his side to face his body back forwards. He turned his head to the side and spat out blood from his mouth.

"Not bad…" he answered, continuing to get back on his feet. "But you have still… forgotten something."

"Yeah yeah, knock you unconscious. Look, pal, I don't know the meaning of that! Do I look like some sort of ugly, cutesy, unconscious-knocking rabbit to you‽ No, I am a killer rabbit that kills! You're lucky I didn't cave your skull in with the first blow."

"Not that… You forgot your gun," Bahrān finished, heaving his rock shooter back into firing position under his arm. It began spitting a bunch of fist-sized rocks right into the Soldier's chest, and he could feel each hit knock him back and bruise his skin. He soon got knocked to the ground, continuing to get pelted until the gun ran out of ammo. He pushed the rocks off of him and stumbled to get up, but saw that Bahrān had scooped more dirt into his barrel and was now standing between him and his rocket launcher.

"I suggest you give up and save yourself the humiliation of being knocked out."

"Only spineless worms forfeit a battle! I am a killer rabbit THAT EATS WORMS!" he shouted as he started to run and tried to pounce onto his foe. The black man took a step back, held the end of his weapon with both hands, and smacked the Soldier aside with the barrel, like the Scout would do. The Soldier rolled onto the ground, clutching his definitely broken ribs in pain on the floor. He looked up to his foe standing over him, pointing his gun right in front of his eyes.

"How about now?"

Before he could respond, another voice interrupted the match. "Mein Gott, what were you thinking?" Mercy exclaimed from the doorway.

* * *

"I'm naw usually a fan o' beer, but I mus' say, Torby, this is goooooooood," the Demoman said in his drunken Scottish accent.

The practice range was put off limits after the fight between Soldier and the black Overwatch guy. He didn't particularly mind, because his new gear was just a grenade launcher that doubled as a sticky launcher and a flimsy version of his Chargin' Targe. From his impromptu and likely not-allowed test outside, the grenades bounced the same. While he was waiting for something to do, he decided to learn about modern alcohol with the short, bearded member of the team. He wasn't very good at names when he was drunk, okay?

He had tried a few different kinds already. Some scotch, some whiskey, now beer… He couldn't remember the names of the brands either, though. He wasn't concerned about mixing his liquors because his liver was more than powerful enough to handle any amount of alcohol you could imagine.

"It's a bit higher end than a lot of the usual selection. Used to be my drink of choice, back in the ol' days when I had the paycheck to afford it. That means, please don't drink the whol- oh, you already did."

"Wha?"

"… never mind."

* * *

The Heavy sat in one of the floating armchairs in the library of the base. His immense weight pushed the chair down to the point that it was barely avoiding touching the floor. After the long last couple of days that he had, he wanted nothing more than to read some literature to ease his mind. It took some time to locate where this place was, and even longer to find something in Russian. As he was searching, he had thought about the new Sascha Engineer built for him. He had to admit, it was remarkably similar to the original, with the sole exception of not having a place to restock ammo. Apparently, the bullet reservoir was capable of replenishing itself, but he was very skeptical of that fact and kept his usual belt of custom-built bullets worn like a sash on his person. He still needed to field test it to see if it really was as good of a replica as Engineer said it was, but he supposed that could wait for a few chapters.

His quiet reading time did not last long, as he heard a mechanical shuffle. He glanced up from his page and saw the green-glowing, robotic man had chosen a book of his own and had sat on the floor with his legs beneath him.

"I must say, it is unusual to have company in this room," the man commented in his semi-robotic voice. Looks like he wasn't going to get his thinking time for another while.

"What? Is crime for Heavy to read?"

"Not at all. I have read many a good novel myself in the last few years. I actually wanted to discuss our literary interests, as no one else in this building contains an interest in this area of study."

"Metal man have point. Heavy's teammates never read books."

"My name is Genji. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Da, Genji. Rhymes with Engie. Should not be hard to remember."

Genji chuckled metallically at that comment.

* * *

Meanwhile, the Engie himself was enjoying a cold drink on the shore of the Mediterranean. After all the work he did making those guns, he deserved a break. He didn't build anything for himself, either, so there wasn't any training he needed to do.

The climate here was quite enjoyable. He was used to scorching summers, and the humidity was a nice medium between wet Texas and dry New Mexico. Maybe once this was all over, he would go travelling. It was never something he had considered that much, as he was perfectly content working on his machines in the quiet countryside he was from. Now, he did travel all over the world back when he was working for Helen, but that was a whole different story. There was no sightseeing, no camping, no fun on those trips, only attacking or defending whatever backwater base happened to be hidden in the area. He was definitely not going to enjoy having to go back and do it all again to keep it out of the hands of these Talon folk.

The idea that he had been locked away for a hundred years and that Ms. Pauling was dead still didn't sit right in his stomach, and he knew the rest of the team felt the same way. The evidence was right in front of him, but there was a voice in the back of his mind that told him that this was all some big lie. Australium could've created this society in a couple of years if it went public, and he knew that better than anyone having worked with it so long.

He was brought out of his thoughts by the clicking of boots. He looked over his shoulder to find the cowboy, McCree, approaching him with his own open bottle.

"Well, howdy pardner," he greeted.

"Howdy to you too," the other man responded, taking a seat beside him.

"What kinda liquor is that?"

"Oh, it's root beer. Figured smoking's bad enough for my health, don't need to add alcohol to that mix."

"Fair enough. My old boss smoked damn near continuously, and I can concur, she was very ragged in her old age." _Granted, it took about twice as long and therefore twice as many cigarettes as it was supposed to for her to get there…_

"I'll keep that in mind…"

"So what brings you down here? Surely it ain't to see me."

"Actually, it is. You see, I'm a New Mexico native myself, and it's nice to have someone to talk to 'bout things other than work for once in a while."

"I'm from Texas, not New Mexico, but I reckon they're close enough. There ain't much to say 'bout either of them."

"Heh. Not wrong there. What I'm real curious 'bout, though, is how you got into the killing business."

Dell paused for a moment. He chose his next words carefully to obfuscate the truth without drawing suspicion. "Ah, well, always been a hobby of mine. My daddy taught me to shoot when I was little and I got real good at it. Learned how to build 'em while studyin' engineering in college, then spent time in a not-so-nice part of town where you gotta learn to defend yourself. Got real good at that too, it seems, because I was offered a contract for a mercenary company, and the rest is history. What about you?"

"I started off in that not-so-nice part of town. Your options were join a gang or be killed by one. Both, if you're unfortunate. Got picked up by Overwatch here until they shut down. Been working as a merc myself since then, but I figured this Recall thing oughta be worth a shot."

The Engineer raised his bottle. "Well, here's to not dying for a few more missions."

McCree raised his as well. "At least that's one thing that's so far so good."

* * *

"I really must insist zhat I gain clearance to zhe medical facilities!" the Medic repeated. Doctor Ziegler had wanted nothing to do with him since he mentioned the incident with the organs, so he had no choice but to go to her superior. Said superior was currently walking, or whatever you call a gorilla's movement, briskly down the hallway.

"I told you, that is out of my jurisdiction. Doctor Ziegler requested that the medical wing become her exclusive operating zone as part of her agreement to rejoin Overwatch. As the current leader of the organization, I will abide by her wishes," Winston replied.

"Vell, I vould like that as part of MY agreement as well! Surely zhere's room enough for two doctors to share an entire wing?"

"I don't disagree with you, but you will have to take it up with Angela, as I said before."

"She iz not talking to me! Can't you make zhe request on my behalf?"

"I don't have time for that right now. I'm trying to secure transportation so we can protect your Australium in more than one location at a time."

"Schweinhund…" he cursed, inaudibly to the gorilla's ears. "Fine, I vill ask zomeone else."

"Thank you."

Winston entered a door and it closed automatically behind him, leaving the Medic alone at the entrance. He sighed and pushed his glasses farther up his nose. He had had a hard enough time tracking down the monkey, let alone anyone else in this forsaken place. Fortunately, the door opened again and another person stepped out. This one was slightly smaller, though that may have been because of the large amount of clothing, wore a lighter shade of blue, and wasn't a gorilla.

"Eeep! Uh, hi, um, sorry. I was not expecting, um, a guest," Mei stammered, looking down.

"Ah, no worries, fräulein. Zay, could you do me a favor?"

"A favor? What is it?"

"I vould like to speak vith Frau Ziegler, but I am… far too busy with… other affairs and cannot ask her myself. Vould you kindly ask her to come find me vhen she gets a chance?"

"Certainly! I am a bit busy myself, but if I see her, I will definitely let her know of your request. Leave it to Mei!" she answered, giggling at her terrible pun.

The Medic did not laugh. "Danke schön. Anyvay, I must be going now," he finished curtly, then turned and left immediately. If he was going to lie, he should at least act the part. The Engineer had attempted to spiffy up his projectile shield and create a device that could disperse his Medi-Gun's stream. While he didn't doubt the man's skill (he DID help tremendously in diagnosing those bread tumors), as the originally inventor of the Medi-Gun, he also didn't trust anyone but himself to make anything that utilized it. That was, in part, why he needed the med bay so badly, but he supposed he'd have to make do elsewhere until he could figure out why his darling Angela was so offended at his story from earlier.

He nearly tripped over himself as he had to suddenly stop to avoid something that popped into his path. It was a small, cap-shaped robot with eyes and three small rockets keeping it afloat.

"Snowball! What are you doing?" he heard the Chinese woman say from behind. He turned to see her rushing to catch up. She could move pretty quickly for her height and with all of those heavy clothes she was wearing.

"Sorry about that. This is my little helper robot. I think it stopped you because I actually have a question for you. It is something that has been bothering me ever since I heard about you."

"Oh? And vhat iz zhat?"

"Did your cryostasis really last a hundred years?"

He shot her a mildly confused look. It was a rather odd question, especially because he wasn't the one that built the preservation chambers. If it didn't last a hundred years, would he be standing here?

"Vell, I vouldn't call it, 'cryo'-stasis, because it does not freeze zhe body. Rather, it keeps zhe body healthy in a way zhat avoids typical aging. You see, zhe body can only reproduce cells for so long, ja? But my invention keeps it going."

"I see. However, I suspect that there has to be something more to that, though. Does it have anything to do with your Australium?"

The Medic turned his head away conceal his grin, though he knew the action would give away the truthfulness of her hypothesis all the same.

"Very insightful, fräulein. How did you figure it out?"

"Myself and a few of my colleagues went into cryostasis for a few years. They… did not make it out alive. Their stasis pods malfunctioned. Something that worked for ten times as long sounded too good to be true."

"Ah, vell, so sorry to hear zhat. I do not know vhat to tell you," he lied. Well, it was true that he didn't know what to tell her, but that was more because he didn't care enough to formulate an appropriate response. Although he was a Medic, his interests were always in pushing biology to the limits of possible. Any 'life improvements' he made were simply results to record in his notes, and he couldn't care less if they could be used to help other people. In that way, he was more of a scientist than a doctor. He just chose to operate on the real deal instead of some filthy lab rats.

"It's okay. I cannot change the past, only fight for the future. I think your team would do well to remember that as well."

"Perhaps."

* * *

The Sniper stepped out of the bathroom. Unfortunately, a hundred years in stasis hadn't mellowed his Jarate-boosted urinary tract at all. It was a small consolation that he would still have enemies to use it on in the near future, at least. As far as his other tools went, he had only his new rifle, but that was all he really needed. The rifle felt very natural in his hands, and it was capable of converting his regular rounds into the larger ones used by the Machina at the flip of a switch. He had also been told that he could activate a feature similar to his old Hitman's Heatmaker that had assisted reloading and cancelled the recoil from his shots, but it needed to recharge after use.

He was bored out of his mind. The Soldier had to go and try and kill a member of Overwatch, and they shut down the practice range because of it. There was no wildlife near the base to shoot, and Winston had forbidden him from travelling anywhere else to go find some because apparently it ran the risk of attracting unwanted attention. His loss, really, because the game would help supplement their stretched food supply.

With nothing else to do, he was meandering through the base. To keep with his philosophy of always having a plan, he thought it wise to familiarize himself with its layout as much as possible in case things went south. He was taking diligent notes on his old notebook, and he made sure to hide them whenever he passed someone by. There were so many screens around the damn base that he knew the use of pen and paper would attract suspicion, not that he particularly trusted them in the first place. It was very surprising that they had been so hospitable to a bunch of mercenaries they found. If it was the other way around, those people would have been either killed or coerced into working for them… and then killed.

Life in the outback has disillusioned him to the idea of a selfless act. Everyone always wanted something out of you. Even when he was with Team Fortress, it was more of a mutual toleration and enemy's enemy situation than truly trusting anyone else. He supposed this could be much of the same. They want to stop Talon, whoever they are, and the team needs the Australium back. If the team got along this long without backstabbing each other, then perhaps Overwatch wouldn't backstab them.

At least, it wouldn't until they actually got their hands on some Australium. He fully expected that all bets would be off once it hit the field, just as it did with Gray Mann and the mercs' predecessors. For that reason, he was going to continue charting every inch of the base and developing a strategy to safeguard the Australium… or maybe even destroy it.

* * *

Annecy, France, was a town the Spy had never heard of until a couple of days ago. There wasn't much of a reason to go to somewhere like this, even back when he lived in France. Today, however, he found such a reason: It was the residence of Gérard Lacroix, the former Secretary of Criminal Investigations who was murdered alongside his wife Amélie in his home by Talon agents. The house had been preserved after the police investigation as a memorial to him and later to the era he represented. That meant there was a chance he could find a lead on Talon's whereabouts, assuming Overwatch hadn't purged them all. Otherwise, he would have to break into one of the archives, and that may alert his old colleagues to his presence.

He had purchased a hoverbike for transportation, and while it lacked the usual class he desired from his tools, it was his only option as there was simply no way he would be able to drive a wheel-less car. The speed, mobility, and size of the motorcycle would be beneficial as well.

The Lacroix manor was located alongside the beachfront of Lake Annecy, south of the city proper. The quiet hum of the hover motor things was the only sound that accompanied the birds and other local wildlife as he drove down the smooth dirt road leading to the residence. All the green, quite frankly, bored him, and he sped along until he saw a particular sign next to the gate attached to a wall surrounding one of the houses. "Lacroix Residence and Memorial," it read. Perfect. There were a few cars parked inside of the fence in an area that had been cleared for such visitors. While it would appear more natural for him to use the front entrance, it was undoubtedly being monitored and that would not bode well for entering unnoticed. Instead, he opted to turn off of the road and park his bike on the other side of the woods near a mountainside, in front of the neighboring house.

His hoverbike lowered onto the dirt as it powered off, and it was a weird sensation. He quickly shook it off and made his way back towards the house through the woods while on the watch for other vehicles. When he saw that the coast was clear, he cloaked from behind a tree, walked across the street, and entered the property.

Finding the cameras' blind spots was second nature to him after having spent so long in espionage. After doing a visual sweep to make sure none of the humans could see or record him either, he uncloaked to allow his watch to recharge. He inwardly sighed, knowing that this was going to take a lot longer without ammo packs lying around. _Note to self: Find an infinite invisibility device after this. They had better have something better than the Cloak and Dagger by now._

A short sound notified the Spy that his Cloak was charged, and he proceeded to disappear and hurry into the house proper. He continued this game of proverbial leapfrog, hiding in a bathroom or behind a couch or in whatever nook or cranny he could find while avoiding contact with the few other guests.

Eventually, he found his way to Gérard's study, and the entranceway was shimmering. It was clearly some sort of booby trap, perhaps a laser-triggered alarm or whatever equivalent to it existed in the new modern day. Such protection meant that something valuable had to be inside. Its source was a small black device sitting on the floor just inside of the room. His mind started racing at how to disarm it, as he only had a few seconds before his Invisibility Watch needed to recharge again. The obvious choice was to shoot it, but that would definitely alert the other visitors. A second idea came to mind and grew a smirk on his face. He knelt to the floor and attempted to nudge the device with the end of his Revolver. The barrel came short as the shimmering field solidified on contact, creating a faint layer of overlapping hexagons that stopped the gun's advance.

The inward sigh was upgraded to a curse, as he quickly retreated to the closet he had hid in last to recharge. He didn't even want to know what muggy old supplies had been stored in here, or for how long. All he knew is that it smelled awful.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by a faint voice. It was very slight – only years in the field learning to discern even minute footsteps to alert him to an enemy presence allowed him to hear it. The whispered musings of the house's other visitors had long been tuned out, but this one was unmistakable. Only once before had he heard her sweet vocals, but once was enough for him to recognize it anywhere.

"Sombra, you are sure he is here?"

The Widowmaker had arrived.

This was a double-edged sword for him. He no longer needed to go to Talon because Talon had just appeared on his doorstep – technically Gérard's doorstep, but the metaphor was still apt. On the other hand, she was likely there to kill him. He had outmatched her before because he had the element of surprise with his Dead Ringer. Now she knew about it, and since she could see through his invisibility with that strange visor of hers, it wasn't much use. He knew next to nothing about the rest of her arsenal. If all she had was that rifle, then it would be easy to outgun her. However, the last time he called out a sniper for lacking in variety, he was rewarded with… _that_. He shuddered involuntarily from his crouched position. Respawn after respawn, he had to start avoiding being drenched in that unspeakable liquid. He doubted that she possessed something as utterly horrifying as _that_ , but he could never be certain about what the future had created. There was the possibility of her carrying a sidearm as well, though given how snug her outfit fit her, it didn't leave a whole lot of places for her to hide it. At the same time, he was carrying a flash grenade, a lockpick, and a cyanide pill in his fake teeth. Anything was possible.

The Spy realized he was wasting time thinking about this. He wasn't planning on attacking her, and it was more important for him to get outside without getting caught. He pressed the vanish button on his watch and snuck out, turning in the opposite direction of his original target and quietly entering what appeared to be a guest bedroom. A guest bedroom with a window. Locking the door behind him, he crossed the room and peered through the slats. What he saw was very pleasing. Beneath the window was a greenhouse jutting out from the house with a slanted glass roof that would tremendously cushion the two-story fall. It wouldn't be pleasant, but it was certainly not the worst escape he'd ever made. As a plus, he couldn't see Widowmaker nearby, though that wasn't going to last long if she could see him right now.

With that in mind, he quickly ran to the bed and nabbed a pillow from it. Rushing back, he raised the shade, opened the window wide, and jumped out. He curled his legs up and placed the pillow underneath his feet. When he landed on the glass, the cushion burst from the impact, but it did its job and kept him stabilized. He sledded down the pane on the pillowcase while activating his Cloak. He took a moment to land and began to make a break for the fence. No sooner than he moved, he heard a distinct crack and a bullet whizzed by where he had been standing. He kept running, making sure to erratically zigzag back and forth to prevent her from up a shot. Quickly, he climbed the fence and vaulted over the top, hoping the unusual maneuver would stop her from catching him while he was at the top.

His Cloak ran out shortly after he had ducked under the fence to catch his breath. He idly noted the small circles of sweat that had formed in the armpits of his suit with a small frown. One of the advantages of respawn was that it restored his suit to its pristine state every time, regardless of how soiled it had become due to flamethrowers or blood or… _that_. Another shudder racked his body.

Refocusing on the task of not dying, he looked around. He was in someone else's yard, and if his memory served him right, it wasn't the one he had parked his hovercycle near. And that was assuming it would still be useful and hadn't already been destroyed by Widowmaker. His goal wasn't really to escape, though. He needed to find Widow's camping spot and show that he was on her side.

He heard a door open and saw the owner of the house step out, likely to investigate the shot. A quick check showed that his Cloak was only at half charge, which wouldn't be enough to find cover from Widow. While theoretically, he could keep himself unknown if he sprinted to the back of the house, that would likely expose him to her for much longer than he was willing to gamble on. He procured his revolver out of his jacket and shot the owner in squarely in the chest. The man stumbled back, but he hadn't died. Long range shots weren't the Spy's specialty. A few more shots fixed that problem swiftly.

As he crept along the fence, he thought more about the problem. He knew she would likely shoot him the moment he poked his head into the driveway. He needed some sort of distraction to allow him to run into the woods.

That distraction become apparent when he heard the sirens. He peered his head away from the fence and saw a full military van and two police cars driving towards the house. Clearly, one of those tourists had the half of a brain to recognize a sniper shot and reported it. Once again vanishing from sight, he ran out just as the train of vehicles passed by the neighbor's house, knowing that any action from Widow would expose her immediately. He hid behind a tree again, scanning the treetops for a glimpse of blue or purple. The moment his Cloak refilled, he immediately disappeared and kept moving towards his hoverbike. As he passed by the entrance to the Lacroix manor through his cover in the woods, he heard a rustling sound. He quickly drew his revolver again and began checking for its source.

A heel connected with his face and sent him sprawling to the ground, shorting his invisibility. He looked up to see the sharpshooter standing over him, and she quickly pinned his gun hand down with her other heel.

"And what might you be doing, breaking into my house?" Windowmaker spoke, in French.

"Your house… **you** are Amélie Lacroix?"

"I _was_ Amélie Lacroix. But she was a foolish girl, hopelessly optimistic about Overwatch, Omnics, and the world. Talon saved me from that naivety and made me into the woman I am today."

"Well, perhaps Talon can save me as well. No doubt, you have noticed that my colleagues are nowhere nearby. I have abandoned their silly group and wish to join your league of superior talent and morality."

"You are far from the first person to beg for your life by asking to join us," Widowmaker commented, extending her gun into a sniper rifle and pointing it at the Spy's head. She chuckled at the growing expression of fear on his face.

"I-I am not begging. Do you not remember our encounter at that dusty old base? I believe my skills speak for themselves. Surely, your boss would be disappointed for you to pass up an opportunity to gain a valuable member with inside knowledge on the metal that you seek."

She laughed louder, and brandished a vial of some strange yellow liquid. "We could torture that information out of you."

The Spy's composure was lost at the sight of that vial. The liquid looked too much like… _that_. _Impossible!_ he thought, as he began to panic. _How could they know‽_

"O-ho, it appears I touched a nerrr-rve." she purred, kneeling down and holding the vial close to his face. "Afraid of needles, are we?"

Suddenly, the vial disappeared and Widowmaker removed the barrel from his forehead and holstered her rifle on her back.

"Okay, I think I've had my fun for the day," she said, stepping off of him. "I am feeling generous. Not really, of course, because I do not feel the emotions that have hindered you. But I will not sedate you. Perhaps your little stunt earned you a favor."

The Spy collected his revolver and returned it to its pocket before standing. "Then why did you put up that charade about killing me?"

"Did you really think you could get away with slipping a business card into my clothing?"

His snort-filled laughter continued even after she had held him close and shot up the side of the mountain.

* * *

Author's Note: This is still June! At least, in my time zone it is. I want to apologize for the long delay. I'm not a terribly prolific writer, so even excluding all the distractions with new games and stuff like that, it takes me a long time to get chapters out. Doesn't help that this one is three times as long as any of the other chapters, or that there was a part of the chapter that I wound up moving to the next one. Seeing the evolution of my writing as this story progresses is quite remarkable. It's the only reason why I don't think I'll ever go back and make some of the earlier ones longer. Anyway, I wanted to let you guys know that I never forgot about or thought of abandoning the story.

Speaking of next chapter, I hope you're ready to see more characters.


	11. Divide and Conquer

For Jack Morrison, there was nothing quite like seeing the Rocky Mountains rise up from the horizon. Growing up, he occasionally took road trips with his family from his home in Indiana to go skiing in the resorts. The snow-capped peaks and blue-gray mountainsides greeted him with their majesty after travelling through the vast, homogenous sea of grass known as the Great Plains. The view had earned a spot in his heart, even through the move to Overwatch HQ in the Swiss Alps, which were generally regarded as more spectacular. It was a shame that he was seeing it under these circumstances.

After the incident in the Temple of Anubis, he found that Ana had been keeping tabs on Talon and especially Reaper for some time. It hadn't been exceptionally difficult to track him down, given how much of a show-off he was. "The Reaper" had been making international headlines, and they quickly found a reputable source that reported him last being sighted in the western United States. Using a small plane that Jack had taken for his vigilante work, they flew there straight away, and the safest place for them to land and avoid being caught in either Watchpoint: Grand Mesa's or the Grand Canyon's highly watched airspaces was in New Mexico. So now, instead of enjoying the view, they were looking at the bright, rusted desert, searching for any potential makeshift runways near civilized areas.

"I'm tired of looking at sand," Jack said flatly.

"What you should really be concerned about is that _I'm_ tired of looking at it," Ana responded.

"The things we do for our job."

"If only we could be so lucky. Hey, look down there. I think that would work."

She was pointing at a small town in the near distance. Nearby was a duo of forts, one red and one blue, and beyond them further was an unusually flat and very long rectangle of land, colored the same as the pale sand around it. If it wasn't in the middle of nowhere, she'd almost guess it was designed as an airstrip.

"Well, that's convenient. Alright, here goes," he affirmed.

The plane curved around and descended towards the rectangle. Ana held on as Jack dipped the plane sharply towards the ground, before straightening itself out as the heated air above the sand pushed back up on it. It landed smoothly on the concrete and the plane's engines finally quieted as it came to a stop.

The duo unbuckled and disembarked the plane. Jack already felt that the heat was unbearable under the midday sun, and the two travelled quickly to the bases. He kicked down the rusty chain-link fence surrounding the complex, and they ducked into a small ditch in the center and took cover under a bridge that spanned it.

"It would've been much simpler to fill this in…" Jack remarked.

"I think it used to be filled with water, judging by the two pipes," Ana observed.

"Sewage pipes? That lead into a ditch in the middle of the premises? What kind of idiots built this place?" he asked, his voice echoing as he entered one of the two pipes without waiting for an answer.

The base was straightforward. The pipes passed a small room and led straight to a set of stairs that ascended to the blue interior, where the base had been built into the dirt without a floor. There were only a couple of hallways, one of which had an entrance from outside. They converged again in a small courtyard with a straight staircase and another one with a right-angle. They shuffled to the angled one, where they would have a better view of the upper floor above where they came from. Halfway up, Jack stopped and raised his rifle.

"I hear a voice," he stated quietly.

"Me too," Ana agreed, as she took to the far flight with her own rifle in position. "Clear above you,"

"You too. The voices are coming from over here, down the stairs. Let's move,"

"You don't need to tell me twice," she commented as she crossed back over and they began sneaking down the stairs.

The voice got louder, and from the sounds of it, robotic. An Omnic, no doubt. But why here?

Jack rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs, rifle at the ready. The hallway before him was clear of the voices' source, but the walls were filled with deactivated servers stacked floor to ceiling. _Wait… voices?_ He thought. He focused on his hearing, and he could make out a second speaker. It was very muffled, but it appeared to be talking with the robotic voice. He proceeded further, and saw two different hallways that both turned corners to the same location. The voices were definitely coming from in there. Ana walked next to him and subtly pointed to the right, and they proceeded together at a crawl, before jumping out from the corner with their guns raised.

Of all the bad scenarios Jack had been expecting, he hadn't considered something like this. Sitting in the middle of the room was a gold and silver robot, paying attention to a person wearing a hazmat suit and a gas helmet who was showing it papers from an opened cyan briefcase. There was a sizable chunk of what appeared to be gold resting in the hazmat person's lap. They both froze when their guests made an appearance, but they didn't raise their hands in surrender. The robot calmly turned its upper body towards them. "Greetings, fellow travelers," it said, without a hint of danger in its voice.

"What makes you think we're travelers?" Jack growled, inching his gun a little closer.

"You do not appear to be locals, given your clothing choice and vocal accent. Additionally, I have been told by my friend here that the citizens of this town do not venture into this facility due to its past. We do not mean you any harm, so please lower your weaponry and we can discuss our tales in a civilized fashion."

Jack was hesitant to comply, but Ana withdrew her weapon to her chest and stepped forward. "Our apologies. We were not anticipating company in this abandoned base, and we expected to encounter an outlaw or some other type of hostile. I suppose you could say it's force of habit," she said with a smile. "Isn't that right, Soldier?"

"… Right. Of course," he muttered, lowering his pulse rifle.

The fourth inhabitant in the room perked up at the word, 'Soldier', but looked disappointed at the man before him.

"What are you two up to, hiding in a place like this?" Jack asked bluntly.

"My friend here was formerly employed at this location," the robot replied. "An old military base. He is explaining to me the work he has performed."

"… I don't buy that," he spoke aggressively, bringing his gun back into firing position. "I may not be from here, but you heard my associate. I'm a military man. And there's never been a military base within fifty miles of this place."

The hidden man stood up, shaking his hands to indicate that Jack was mistaken. "Mm, mmph mmmmph mph mmmmph," he said, voice still completely inaudible through the filters in the helmet.

"Excuse me?"

"She said it's mercenary, not military. I apologize for the mistranslation, I must have misunderstood earlier."

"A mercenary base?" Ana questioned, her rifle now resting in her hands. "Wasn't the Deadlock Gang shut down a couple of decades ago?"

"Mm, mmph mmph-mmph mph. Mm mmph mmm-mmph!"

"No, not Deadlock. It's Team Fortress!"

"The hell is that?" Jack demanded.

"Mm-mm-mph-mmph."

"Mercenaries."

"I got that, wise guy," he deadpanned, inching closer again to intimidate them. "Where?"

He flinched at a hand on his shoulder as Ana stepped up. "Excuse him, he's not very quick to trust people," she said while reaching into her inner coat pocket and pulling out a small poster. "We're not interested in hunting down this Team Fortress of yours. Our main concern is a particular man, the one on this poster." She showed them the picture of Reaper that had been posted back in Egypt. "A hunter by the name of Reaper. Tell us where he is and we won't have to take drastic measures."

The anonymous woman flinched in recognition at Reyes' wanted poster. "So he's here," Jack commented.

"Mm, mph mm mmph mmph mmmm mm mph. Mm mm-mmmph mm mmmph mph mm."

"Yes, but we don't know where he is. He attacked his friends and him."

"Rrgh…" Jack's gears were spinning. Reyes must be nearby, but judging by the neutrality of these people at his and Ana's arrival, they must be confident he doesn't know they're here. Which means they were attacked elsewhere.

"Can you direct me to where you were attacked?"

The strange man shook his head. "Mm mm mm-mmmmph. Mmmph mph-mm mph mm-MM-mph mm mm-mm-mph mmmph."

"It was… destroyed. Friends taken by gorilla and gorilla's friends."

"God damn it," Jack exclaimed, turning around to leave.

"And where do you think you're going?" Ana sassed, grabbing him by his coat collar. They turned their backs to the other two and began talking in hushed tones. "He's long gone by now, especially if Reaper's involved. You're not considering flying to Gibraltar, are you?"

"It's not safe here. As you said, Reaper's around. We need to do something with these two. If this person's group is with them, it's our best bet at figuring this mess out."

"Hm. You've got a point there. However, our plane only seats three. Someone would have to stay behind."

"That'll be me. I know you want to support me, but this feud is between me and Reyes. That, and I don't agree with what Winston thinks he's doing. We don't need that can of worms opening up right now. You need to go."

"… Alright, Jack. Don't get yourself killed."

Ana turned back towards the other two. The robot was waiting patiently, while the mercenary lady was playing with a lighter and seemed to be considering lighting the contents of the briefcase on fire.

"Forgive us for that. We know Reaper better than most out there, and we needed to discuss tactics on how to get you out of here safely."

"With all due respect," the robot interjected, "we are not simple civilians. My friend here is a mercenary, if you recall, and I myself am no stranger to hostility, as much as I wish to create peace."

"You don't want to take chances with Reaper," Jack countered. "But that's beside our point. We think we know where your mercenary friends are. The gorilla is an old friend of ours. Shrike here will take you to them."

The robot chuckled. "Very well. However, I will insist that you please cease the use of nicknames. I know very well who you are, Jack Morrison and Ana Amari."

Jack raised his gun again. "And what makes you think that?"

"Your reaction, for one. I do not believe I have introduced myself properly. My name is Tekhartha Zenyatta. I am a brother of the recently deceased Mondatta, may the Iris rest his soul." He chuckled softly. "The look on your faces is all I need to see. We are all on the same side of this equation, so let us proceed as allies. Isn't that right, Pyro?"

The Pyro gave two thumbs up as it walked over to the corner to grab its equipment: A flamethrower and a flare gun. Jack also noticed some odd-looking grenades on a bandolier around his chest.

"I need to stay here in case Reaper comes back. Ana will escort you two to the old Watchpoint in Gibraltar. That's where we think the gorilla has gone."

"Understood."

"And try not to set anything on fire."

The Pyro whined from beneath its mask.

* * *

"Extraction complete. Returning to base," Lacroix reported over the intercom.

Sombra grinned widely. She leaned back in her comfy revolving chair and took another sip of her coffee. For an accidental find, this had quickly transformed into one of the juiciest endeavors she had produced in a long time. She had been looking for blackmail material on politicians in the border states to help out her Los Muertos friends when she uncovered a very peculiar lawsuit from the little _pueblo_ of Teufort, New Mexico. It was filed against "The Teufort Nine," a group of mercenaries fighting against another group of mercenaries over a bunch of secret spy bases. Clearly, the bases weren't that much of a secret, but the most interesting part was that despite only being entered recently into the digital files, the claim was originally made in 1972. It briefly mentioned an old arms manufacturer called Mann Co., so she sent it off almost absently to the remnants of the Deadlock Gang that Talon was trying to revive. She expected nothing more than brownie points if they found something. Instead, they informed her of a **real** secret – two intelligence briefcases containing knowledge of a valuable metal known as Australium. There wasn't a lot that could be recovered due to how ancient the papers were, but it was enough to make it clear that they needed to find it.

It seems Deadlock had been sloppy, though, because the Overwatch brats showed up on their next expedition and had apparently found the Teufort Nine all cooped up in cryostasis. Those guys were the real wild card in all this – they had somehow been convinced to side with Overwatch, but it was impossible to predict if that arrangement would stay, or what they knew about the Australium. Too many people had arrived at Gibraltar for them to have an eye or an ear inside the place. Fortunately, one of the mercenaries had already left of his own accord, and that made him a perfect target for interrogation.

After draining her mug, she decided to head to the landing pad to wait. One could only stare at a screen for so long, you know? Arising from her chair, she stretched her back and legs, feeling them loosen up with pops and crackles. She opened the door and stepped out of her personal room into the hallway. Currently, she was stationed in Talon's base near Algeciras, which they created as a result of the new Overwatch meddling in their affairs. Just because they couldn't see inside of the base doesn't mean they can't see outside of it. And she was the one they assigned to babysit them while Gabe and Doomfist went hunting for shiny rocks.

It was approaching sunset, so the usually white hallway was a bit darker and bluer than usual. Ones of the walls was made of windows, providing a gorgeous view of the Bay of Gibraltar to the east. On some mornings, when the sun reflected off of the water juuust right, it was downright breathtaking. This little wing of the building was reserved for the important members, so it was often quiet, too.

She continued on to the main foyer, where a few agents were bumbling about. Although she was superior to them in rank, she had told them long ago to stop saluting her, because she was never about that sort of stock obedience. They may be stupid, but they're not _perros_. As long as they didn't screw up their missions, that's all that really mattered. That, and building a good rep as the, "cool commander," would help ensure that she could keep them out of the way of her personal plans.

The landing pad was on top of their parking garage. As she climbed the two flights of stairs to the top floor, she inwardly laughed at the sight of regular hoverbikes and SUVs parked next to sports cars and armored buggies. It never failed to amuse her that some of these people were punch clock villains, allying with Talon's lofty ambitions just so they can pay the bills.

It wasn't long before the airship arrived. When the door opened, she was surprised to see Lacroix casually chatting with her captive, who was supposed to be bound and sedated.

"Now, I'm no pilot, but I'm pretty sure people we capture are not cleared to move about the cabin. _¿Estás loca?_ "

"No. He has expressed interest in joining our cause, and since I already proved I can destroy him if I so choose, I figured it would not harm to treat him with a little respect."

"And who, may I ask, are you?" the captive asked in a French accent.

"Oh, I see now, it's because he's a Frenchie. You're going soft." She shook her head. "As for myself, you may call me Sombra."

"Ah, so it is you I have to thank for the help with the technology."

"Come again?"

"I could not have found what I did about your organization without some articles written by one Sombra that allowed me to access the information stored in the hotel I was staying at."

She continued to give him a strange look. Sure, she'd written some amateur hacking guides, but she didn't understand how that would be necessary to access the free Internet provided by any hotel… unless, of course, he had never used it before and had no idea what he was talking about.

"Oh, I get it now," she said, putting on a fake smile. "You're very welcome, _amigo_."

The Frenchman took a puff of his cigarette. "Anyway, I shouldn't make myself too at home until we get the paperwork out of the way. Hopefully it will go quickly."

" _Oui_. Unfortunately, you must be placed in a holding cell until ze bosses hear your case. Sombra, please get in contact with Akande and inform him of the situation."

"You seriously haven't told our boss that you turned our target into a recruit? He will not be happy with you when he hears of this."

"That's why you're the one that'll be telling him. Ta-ta," Lacroix quipped, then turned around and immediately left with the... visitor. She didn't know what else to call him at this point.

 _If only that woman was as easy to crush as a real spider,_ Sombra thought. Sighing, she took out her encrypted work phone and dialed up ol' Doomfist.

"Sombra. You called at a good time," he answered in his baritone voice.

"Any luck with the Australium?"

"Not yet, but we have plenty to go through. There are a lot of bases in this area. What's the status on Overwatch?"

"You're going to love this. One of the Teufort goons jumped ship and we picked him up."

"Good. Milk him for all he's worth."

"Yeah, about that. Does milking include adding him to our team? Apparently Widow made an agreement with him."

Ogundimu grunted over the line, then went silent for a moment. "Widowmaker did that? She may need to have her conditioning checked soon. While I trust her judgment, and having one of them on our side would be an excellent advantage for us, I need to talk to him myself before I approve of anything."

"So do you want me to go get them?"

"If you would kindly."

"Very well. I'm going to put you on hold." She pocketed the phone and let out a sigh. First she was a hall monitor, now she's a secretary? What's next, is she going to deliver someone coffee?

Regardless, she made her way to the basement where their holding cells where. Most bases only had a couple because they had dedicated prisons for whatever they needed to exploit people for. Taking prisoners wasn't part of their intentions most of the time anyway.

When she arrived, it pleased her to see that Widowmaker had already left, leaving just her and the prisoner. She should really find out his name.

"So, what did this Akande say?" he asked her immediately when he saw her.

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" she replied, taking her phone out of her pocket and pressing a few buttons. "Alright, boss, you're on speaker with the target."

"Ah, good. Do you have any idea who you're messing with, mercenary? Talon is the organization that brought down Overwatch. We have more money and blood on our hands than in your wildest dreams. What makes you think you can waltz into our territory and demand a job?"

"I do believe it was your agent who brought me onto your property. The same agent I bested in our first encounter, as you are no doubt aware. Now, monsieur Doomfist, what if I told you that my previous employment was with an organization larger than Talon? Larger than Overwatch, even? And even more secretive?"

"I would tell Sombra to kill you on the spot for such an obvious lie. An organization like that would not be forgotten to history."

"Yet it is true nonetheless. You will find in your investigation mention of two organizations – RED, and BLU. Two rival companies fighting to control governments all over the world in the shadows, just like Talon. What you will not find is that they are both owned by the same company, Team Fortress Industries, a fact unaware to anyone in either organization. The reports you uncover will not mention that this same company owned the world's entire supply of Australium. I am one of but nine people this company entrusted to protect its main assets in various warehouses all over world the world, including in the Teufort area. That makes me one of the nine deadliest men on the planet. As I told your agent, I am not here to beg. I do not fear you."

"You say that, but that agent then beat you handedly in your next fight. You now sit in a cell without your weapons, surrounded by people loyal to me. And you have just told me what I need to look for to advance my agenda. Why should I not order your execution right now?"

"You don't know what tricks I have up my sleeve. Besides, in giving this information to you, I have betrayed my former colleagues, if you are worried about my allegiance. You know that my skills and my knowledge would be of much use to you. It would be such a waste to throw that away because I have resisted your intimidation techniques."

"… you are very observant. Even if over a telephone, it takes a lot of guts to stand up to me. I think I can open up a spot for you. In addition, I'm sure, even with your current devices, that an upgrade is in order after so long. Sombra will get you set up with our weapons guy."

 _No she will not._ "Yes, of course. Will there be anything else?"

"Not for right now. I'll want a report with everything you know once you're settled, mercenary. What's your name, anyway?"

"You may call me The Spy."

"The Spy? You'd better not be spying for Overwatch. I'll have your head if I find out."

"As I said, you have nothing to worry about."

"Then welcome to Talon."

* * *

By unanimous decision, the latest meeting was not to be held in the main conference room. They had been there twice already in the last week, and since no one had left the base, everyone was sick of it. Instead, Winston had suggested his personal laboratory, located on the other side of the base. Mei didn't mind, though. It was good to get some exercise when she spent so much of her time at this base staring at screens and monitoring data. She wasn't sure why Winston wanted her to stay here while they had their mercenary guests, especially if their employment would be a long-term agreement. She couldn't sit around forever, she needed to research in the field.

The sun reflected red on the chrome steel of Winston's lab as Mei approached it. It was sunset, which always brought a smile to her face. One of her favorite things about nature was how even an everyday occurrence could always find a way to be beautiful. No matter where in the world her travels took her, the sun would always greet her in the morning and say goodbye at night with its warm, happy glow.

She sighed and ascended the ramp leading to the main entrance. She could already see and hear that most, if not all, of the other agents were already there. It was usually unlike her to be late, but she had been fiddling with a new handheld DNA Scanner she had recently obtained and lost track of time testing it on the plants near the base. As she entered the room, she was immediately greeted by the tall man – the Sniper.

"And look who it is! We were just talking about you."

"M-me?" she stammered. _Uh-oh. They were all waiting for me, weren't they?_ "Sorry if I was late. I was just–"

"Nah, mate, you're not late. We were chattin' about homebrew weaponry, and one of yer pals brought up that your sloshy-gun is new. We weren't sure if you made it yourself." He turned to the side to allow her to see who he was referring to. Torbjörn, Bahrān, and the black mercenary… Ah! the Demoman, were sitting on the stairs near the globe.

"Uh… yes, I did make it. I'd really rather not talk about it, though. Maybe the others can fill you in."

"Sure. Okay," he agreed, before turning around and heading back to resume his discussion.

Mei surveyed the rest of the room. Winston and the Engineer were looking at some equations on his table – if memory served, they were the same ones she had noticed an error in a few weeks ago. McCree, Genji, and the slim boy she remembered as the Scout were talking in the far right corner. Upstairs, she heard voices arguing rather loudly, which belonged to Reinhardt and that awful Soldier. That left the Heavy, the Medic, Mercy, and Symmetra who hadn't arrived. After her conversation with the Medic yesterday, she was worried what he would be up to with Mercy, especially given how close he appeared to be with the Heavy. They could be trying to force their way into Angela's lab!

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a bit on cyan floating underneath the blackboard. She walked over and saw Symmetra working on an architecture problem by herself, having faced the blackboard away from the rest of the room. But if she was here, then…

"Symmetra, I hate to disturb you, but do you know where Doctor Ziegler and the other doctor are? The latter is very… determined to gain access into the medical wing despite Angela's insistence that he not."

"I do. I was able to convince her, begrudgingly, to allow him access. He is currently performing an examination on his big friend under her constant supervision."

"Really? What did you say to her?"

"I appealed to her scientific side. The only way for her to know if his medicine is truly an abomination is to see it for herself. Also, it was obvious that he wasn't going to stop trying any time soon, and I was frankly annoyed by it."

"Oh. How much longer do you think they'll be? They didn't forget about our meeting, did they?"

"The field medic promised he would be finished before the scheduled time. Knowing Doctor Ziegler, they could walk in the door at any moment."

It would be a lie to say that she was slightly disappointed that they didn't enter immediately after Symmetra said that. Those situational irony moments are always so funny. However, it wasn't long before the Scout started complaining about waiting and asked to start even though not everyone was there.

"Alright, alright, we can begin," Winston responded. "Okay, everyone, gather aroun-"

"Wait up, Herr Gorilla!" came a voice, followed by the Medic running through the front door and tumbling to a halt once he had cleared the entranceway. "Ve are… here now… whoo, vas not expecting… to run so long…"

Entering behind him was, as expected, the Heavy and Angela. They were similarly wheezing and panting, which was rather unusual for the doctor because she kept in good shape.

"We were just beginning, so your timing is impeccable. Now, where was I? Oh yeah. Hi, everyone. I know that it has only been a few short days for you to become accustomed to your new world and new weapons, but Talon isn't going to wait for us to cross our I's before searching for that Australium."

"Winston, love, I don't think that's how you use that expression."

"Aw, it's close enough. So, it was brought up in our previous conversation that you guys didn't know the whereabouts of any remaining Australium caches. I was able to put together a tracker that could pick up its radioactive signal, but I need a sample of it so it has a guideline to base its search off of. Do any of you own anything with Australium in it that can be forfeited?"

The mercenaries shared looks of doubt. "Nyet," the Heavy replied.

"Mmph mm-mm-MMMMMPH!" a muffled voice called from a corner of the room. Everyone turned to see an anonymous figure in a baggy suit holding a shiny gold ingot above its head. _So that's what Australium looks like…_

"Pyro‽" several members of the mercenary team called at once. One of them laughed.

"See, I told ya it'd show up at just the right time," the Scout bragged.

The Pyro and the Engineer walked towards each other and embraced in a hug. The ingot traded hands, and the hardhat dropped it into his huge frontal pocket on his belt.

"Where did you find this, Pyro? And how did you know to come here, of all places?"

"He had assistance," a metallic voice answered from behind. A levitating robot silently drifted into the room. He seemed slightly familiar – Mei vaguely recalled seeing him on television regarding omnic rights.

"Master!" Genji exclaimed. He bowed deeply towards the figure, who bowed in turn.

"It is a pleasure to see you after so long, my student. Allow me to introduce myself to your team members. My name is Tekhartha Zenyatta, former member of the Shambali monastery. You may have heard of the Shambali through my brother, Tekhartha Mondatta, may the Iris rest his soul. Like him, I am seeking to repair the relationship between human and omnic. Destiny appears to have crossed all of our paths together for our mission."

"So it has. However, I fear it does not answer the American's question. How would you have known to look here?"

"The Pyro has explained that his friends left in the company of a talking gorilla. I know of only one talking gorilla on this planet, so it was rational to investigate. The contradiction lies not in my knowledge, but in my ability to travel. I would require someone who is licensed to fly a plane. As destiny would have it, this person is also one of great significance to the current situation."

He floated off to the side of the door. A third person, a woman, emerged from the shadows, one that Mei and everyone else in Overwatch knew with much more certainty. She was dressed in olive green and black military gear, with blue on some of the pads and on her hood that shaded her face. She had aged a lot since the last time Mei had saw her – although she could say the same of everyone in the time that she was in cryostasis, it was even more apparent here. Most notable was the metal eyepatch over her right eye. The remaining one looked as sharp as ever, if a bit weary.

"I humbly present… Ana Amari."

"Ana… how could this be? You… died!" Reinhardt stammered.

Died? What? I knew Commanders Morrison and Reyes were supposedly killed in the HQ explosion, but I don't recall reading anything about Captain Amari's death… Perhaps I overlooked something.

"Reinhardt. Torbjörn. Angela. And all of you. I'm sorry, but I simply couldn't go on. My whole career, I was killing people with loved ones just like us. The weight of it was too much. When I was shot, I knew it was time to stop. But… it seems the world did not want to stop with me. People thought we didn't need Overwatch, but there still exist people who threaten the ones we care about. So now I am here to help. I do not intend to stay here and join your group, though. That life is behind me."

The conversation was dropped as the Engineer examined the glimmering Australium in his hands. "Well, now that we have this, it's as simple as locating the caches and extracting them. Winston, if you wouldn't mind showing me to your locater."

"Right this way." The two of them left the lab.

Ana was crowded immediately. Everyone had so many questions about what had happened in the last seven years. Mei was mulling over what she had said, and she realized just how many of the people in the room had cheated death. The mercenaries survived a hundred years in cryostasis. She herself had survived nine. Almost the entirety of Genji's body was replaced so he could survive grievous injuries. Lena lives with a device strapped to her chest to avoid slipping into a hellish existence outside of space and time. And now Ana was here, who lost her eye and had to fake her death to find the answers she was looking for. She was sure all of the field agents had had close encounters of their own.

"Alright, who's ready for an international gold rush?" the Engineer joked as he and Winston returned. Everyone gathered around the holographic globe as Winston typed in a few things. The glowing atlas turned into a creamy orange color, and the word, "Searching," appeared over the North Pole. Circles started popping up all over the globe, like rain falling on water. Soon, it stopped, and the globe sat idle for a few minutes.

"… is it broken?" Bahr¬ān asked.

"Um… I don't know," Winston answered.

It then made a pinging noise that startled everyone. The, "Searching," went away, and seven flashing dots appeared on its surface.

"Ah, results," Torbjörn said. "Let's see, we have Egypt…"

"… Russia…" the Heavy added,

"… Mein heimat, Germany…" the Medic continued,

"… Japan…" Genji mused,

"… Australia…" the Sniper said,

"… Brazil…" Mercy pondered,

"… and last but not least, New Mexico. Guess there was a stash nearby," McCree concluded.

"Seven locations… and only two planes. I'm a good pilot, but planes can only fly so fast. There's no way we can get to all seven and have time to stop Talon at every one," Tracer admitted with a sigh.

"We don't have to," the Soldier countered. "The enemy took several dozen casualties for nothing when we fought them last. The loss of men and morale ought to limit their objectives until they are making clear progress on their goal. As long as we can predict where they are headed, we can continue to shut them out and make this a cause not worth fighting for."

Mei was surprised to see the helmeted man say something cooperative for once. From the looks of everyone else in the room, so were they.

"Are you sure about that?" the Sniper questioned. "I wouldn't give up on Australium just because we were beaten a few times. I don't know what Talon knows about us, but we're basically just bluffing a good defense. If they see through that, then they'll have the upper hand."

"We'll bluff harder, then!" Reinhardt suggested.

"Normally I would not agree with such a line of thinking, but as it is our only viable choice, I must concede," Genji said. "Fortunately, I happen to be quite good at deception."

"Is that so, robot man? I'll have you know that I have infiltrated a factory of robots with nothing but cardboard, vacuum tubing, and my wit! I'd like to see you try and come up with a better plan!"

 _Oh. I knew that was too good to be true for long._

"He actually did that, y'know," the Scout commented.

Genji glared at him. "I am not sure. Perhaps we can come up with a strategy as a group."

"Maybe… if we sent a lot of people to one location, would Talon think that we have the numbers to support a risky decision like that?" Bahrān suggested.

"No, Reyes would never fall for a trick like that," Ana demurred. "It's only risky because we don't have the numbers to support it."

"I'm not sure if you all are aware, but Talon does know we're here. Reaper attacked and stole information of many of Overwatch's old agents. It was that act which finally convinced me to initiate the recall. They probably have eyes in the area somewhere," Winston said.

"Well, if that's the case, then they probably know of our plane situation, too," Mei figured.

"Not necessarily," Tracer disagreed. "We fly under the radar so the UN doesn't get too suspicious. Unless Talon is literally keeping track of everyone that enters or exits Gibraltar, they shouldn't know too much about our patterns."

"I may be a weapons designer, but I know a lot about securing facilities. They gotta store that stuff somewhere, ya know," Torbjörn said. "Part of my spiffying up this base's defenses includes monitoring the space around us. The Petras Act prevents us from acting against people watching us, but I've been making sure that no one's seeing things they're not supposed to be seeing."

"So are they watchin' us or not watchin' us?" the Demoman asked.

"They should be not watching us enough that we can pull this off," Torbjörn concluded.

"Tha's good enough for me."

"Heavy does not understand. Sending many people is bad because Talon group will go attack other point. Sending few people is bad because we will lose. What is compromise?"

There was a brief pause as everyone tried to come up with an answer.

"Sending few people may perhaps not be bad," Symmetra thought. "If they, in fact, do not possess numbers like they used to, then they might not send much of their own against us. Especially if they are not certain of the location of the Australium."

"Based on the contents of the intelligence briefcase I was shown, it does not appear likely that they do not know," Zenyatta opposed.

"Iz it likely zhat zhey vould not send many anyway? Ve are talking abandoned, remote safehouzes, not maximum security military facilities," Medic considered.

"I would not doubt that," Genji said. "At the same time, that means they know that only us will be searching for the Australium. They would only need to send enough to deal with our squads."

"I would've thought the same thing back in New Mexico, but they sent the full welcoming party," McCree disagreed.

"That might've been because of us," the Sniper brought up. "Assuming they knew we were there, they would need a lot more than a few goons to bring all nine of us with them."

"… that makes sense, but that's still a very large assumption to be making," Mercy said. "I know more about medicine than just about anyone, and even I would never have guessed that you would be there. Even if I knew about your existence and about the almost miraculous powers you say Australium has, it wouldn't be practical to preserve you. No offense."

"No offense, but does it really frickin' matter? We killed those guys. We already established that they're not gonna make that mistake twice."

"Scout's right," the Engineer agreed. "It's highly unlikely that they'll send many people against us. The question is: How do we beat them?"

"Hm… we may be able to surprise them," Winston said. "There are people in those areas that I have no doubts would be able to hold their own against Talon. They may be able to help us out."

"Wonderful. I think we are in need of a chart," Reinhardt proposed.

"Sure. Okay," Winston agreed. He lumbered over to a desk in the corner and shuffled through a pile of stuff that Mei guessed had been accumulating there for a while. He eventually grabbed a tablet and brought it back over to the projector table.

 _Wait… help us out? But that would imply…_

"Uh, Winston, there may be a problem with that idea," she spoke up.

"Wait, what? Well… what is it?"

"As much as I am sure they dislike Talon like we do, to ask them for help would be to act rather undeniably as Overwatch. We may be able to pass off a couple of former agents doing vigilante work as mere coincidence, but to request help creating an organized group to tackle them? That's a mission."

"We could just not tell them we're Overwatch," the Scout suggested. That's the first time one of them has referred to themselves as Overwatch…

"That's ridicu-" Torbjörn began, before stopping. "… I won't say ridiculous, but it doesn't sound feasible. You'd have to contact them on your own somehow, or try to bring the conflict to them so they see you as in need of help."

"If there's anyone good at taking fights where they don't belong, it's US!" the Soldier exclaimed. "We've caused all sorts of property damage to the people of Teufort! They want our heads! They almost got them a few times, but we weaseled and k- NOT TODAY COMMIE!"

The Heavy had attempted to muffle him once more, but he saw it coming this time and ducked out of the way.

"If you would stop fooling around," Bahrān interrupted, raising his voice. The two mercenaries froze in the middle of their battle for grappling dominance. "We are all waiting to get out of here, I'm sure. The sooner we complete our meeting, the sooner we can do that."

"You can say that again. Anyway, I doubt that this would work," McCree said. "The chances of the Australium caches being anywhere near these friends of ours is about as likely as getting a horse drunk off its ass."

The Demoman snickered. "I'll bet y'know from experience, don't ya?"

No one answered him.

"They may not be in the same place, but as long as they know that Talon is in the area, they can be on guard and perhaps slow them down," Genji said. "We could even contact them from here. Surely, the Petras Act will not stop us from giving advice."

"It might," Ana responded. "Ultimately, where the line is drawn between vigilante activity and Overwatch activity is the decision of law enforcement. In my recent experience, people's opinions on your return are mixed. They are uncertain of what the future holds, and they may not be willing to allow Overwatch even a little control after what happened. All it takes is one report and your hopes for revival are quashed."

"That's a risk I think we have to take," Winston defended. "We need all the help we can get. I'm not too worried, though. The people I'm thinking of share a lot of the ideals that we do."

He took her silence to mean that she didn't disagree. "Any other concerns?"

The room remained quiet.

"Let's get to the assigning, then!" Tracer concluded excitedly.

Everyone turned their attention to the flashing dots on the globe. Winston did a little bit of typing on the onboard keyboard and empty lists popped up at each of the locations. "Since we're stretched so thin, we won't be able to send more than two or three people to each objective. Each squad needs to have a balance of skills to prevent any rock-paper-scissors-ing, but we should also keep as low of a profile as we can."

"First and foremost, we need to divide up Team Fortress. We're the ones that know the facilities and where the Australium is likely to be," the Sniper added. "Fortunately, some of them line up with our homelands. Doc can take Germany, Heavy Russia, and myself in the Outback."

"I know the Badlands the best of all of us," the Engineer continued. "That leaves South America, Egypt, and Japan. Any takers?"

"I am an expert at jungle fighting! Leave those tribal hippies to me!" the Soldier proclaimed.

"Didn't you die when we went hunting for that yeti?" the Scout questioned.

"No! At least, probably not. I was unconscious and don't remember."

"Yetis don't exist," Symmetra stated flatly.

"Not anymore, zhey don't," the Medic responded. "Such a shame, zheir organs were of top quality…" he mumbled.

"I've also been researching a lead on their existence," Mei added. "It's surprisingly plausible!"

"I would appreciate us not getting off track for a few minutes, please," Torbjörn criticized.

"Sorry!"

"I've always wanted tah see Japan," the Demoman said. "They got their swords and honor and all that. Sounds like my kind a place."

"I'll take Egypt," the Scout spurted. "Not that I don't think the Pyro wouldn't be capable of working with you guys, it's just that he, uh, just showed up! We've been working with you longer, so it would be more, uh, appropriate for me to do it."

A few heads turned towards the Pyro. It shrugged.

"… well, that settles it… I think." McCree commented. "We should probably do a similar system with us, if possible. So, me in the Badlands, Reinhardt in Germany, Genji in Japan, and Ana in Egypt."

"I'm afraid I cannot do that, Jesse. I can already tell you that Winston intends on contacting my daughter. She knows I am alive, but this is not the scenario in which I wish to meet her again."

"I can take your place," Bahrān offered. "Egypt is in Africa. Although it is on the other side of the Sahara, the climate is not too dissimilar from my homeland. I think my golem and I would compliment the skinny man as well."

"Ha! My skinny ass could run figure-8's between you and some lump of stone! What makes you think you're so valuable?"

"For one, I won't die to a slight breeze. Also, my Stone Packer makes for a good attention grabber and team splitter so you can pick off foes. Unless you don't think you can avoid some rocks?"

"Ey, I see what you're doin' there. I ain't gonna take the bait this time. Mission's too important to get in a fight. I think it could work, but we'll need ta practice our strategy some."

"That statement is true of us all," Zenyatta added.

"I agree. That is why I think we need a third to storm Germany with us. What use is my shield if the only person I would be protecting is a healer?" Reinhardt asked.

"Don't underestimate my lethality, Herr Wilhelm," the Medic said grimly. "But I am certainly not a frontlines fighter, so I vould concur as well."

Tracer frowned. "Most of us aren't. Winston and I are more of the hit-and-run type. Torby has his turrets. Ana's a sniper. I don't know if Mei or Zenyatta are even skilled fighters."

"I'm not. I am experienced with the cold, though, so I was thinking of going to Russia anyway."

"My knowledge only travels as far as self-defense. Engaging in violence, even if for a good cause, is not my mode of operation."

"Hold up a second there, Lena," Torbjörn interrupted. "My turret may not be most mobile of things, but the ole Fortified Turret combo is tried and true. Reinhardt and I have been using it since the Omnic Crisis days, if my old brain serves me correctly."

"Ah, yes. Now that I think about it, we used it during the Null Sector uprising too, didn't we? So you've seen it in action."

"Oh yeah! I can't believe I forgot about that! So that solves that. That leaves me and Winston in the jungle and in Australia. Personally, I think I would go well Down Under. I could scope out the battleground and distract targets so the Sniper could get his shots."

"You run into the same slight breeze problem, though," Bahrān brought up. "You two can't defend each other if you're so far away."

"Yeah, and that's something I could do better. I think so, at least," Winston responded. "My Tesla Cannon has a limited range, but armored gorillas tend to be bigger distractions than most things. Plus, I have a jump jet so I don't lose a lot of mobility over Lena's accelerator."

"Alright, big guy, that's fair. I don't think Corporal Helmethead would want to work with you anyway."

"Listen here, sissy!"

The Soldier was met by glares from just about everyone in the room.

"Mmm mm-mm mph?"

"Huh? Oh, that's a good point, Pyro. Even if, uh… those two don't want to help, Pyro's still perfectly capable," the Engineer said.

"I never said I wouldn't help, just that I wouldn't go to Egypt. Actually, I think it might be more useful to have the three of us in our plane as an emergency crew. If we guess incorrectly where Talon is at, or if they have more numbers than a group can handle, we'll have a backup in place to bail them out."

"I think that's a great idea," Mercy seconded.

Suddenly, a noise that sounded a lot like a car alarm started going off. "Alert: Unknown aircraft detected entering the vicinities of the Australium caches in Egypt and Japan," Athena reported. "Initial behavior does not align with current flight schedules in the area."

"Or you could be monitoring the areas you found for them," Ana remarked dryly.

Winston shrugged. "A good leader is always thinking two steps ahead. There's no way we could afford to spend the time and resources chasing them down if there wasn't a way to narrow our search."

As the meeting adjourned and Bahrān, Scout, Genji, and the Demoman started walking in the general direction of the hangar, Mei wondered what Ana thought of that last statement. Being on the scientist side of the spectrum, she never saw much of the Captain or the Commander in action. From what she did see, Morrison was the charismatic leader and Amari the team mom, and both were brilliant tacticians. Winston, as superb of a scientist as he was, had always been too data-oriented and socially awkward to fit those roles. She assumed that Jack was still alive if Ana was, and his not being here must mean something. Plus, Overwatch was about to send an agent and a… twitchy mercenary to potentially and illegally work with her daughter. Although Ana wore a face of mild interest and concern, Mei wouldn't be surprised if there was some resentment under the surface.

For now, though, everyone seemed content finally to have some action.

* * *

Author's Note: Sorry about the long wait, guys. School's gotten rough. I'm pretty sure another chapter isn't going to happen until summer. But hey, this chapter has managed to be twice as long as the last one that I said was so much longer than the other chapters. Also, we're finally done with what I consider to be "part 1" of the story. After this, it'll be a lot more action and a lot less exposition.


	12. AN: Story's Cancelled

With the announcement of Wrecking Ball as the next hero, my interest in Overwatch has been irreparably destroyed, and as a result this story is cancelled. When Overwatch came out, its story and lore potential was what made it stand out to me from other class-based shooters. All of the heroes had their own perspectives on life and on the world that the Overwatch organization lived and was left behind in, and it was beautiful. But it's become apparent with the releases of Brigitte and now Hammond that this image is no longer in the minds of the Overwatch team. Both characters are nothing more than recycled content created to indulge fan demands for the first name they see to fill the meta, and they lack anything memorable or even new that would allow them to live up to the hero name. I honestly believe that I put more thought into the story of my two OCs than they did of these two PCs, and it's a disgrace.

Below is Chapter 13 in its current state. It has a couple sections done, and is as long as some of the first chapters. I was even thinking of releasing it before Hero 28's reveal because all the signs suggested it would be like this, but I decided that I didn't want to rush it.

* * *

The Bio-Sciences Lab at the Oasis University saw little activity during the hot Iraqi summers when university was out of session. However, little is not the same as none, and one Moira O'Deorain was busy at work on her latest projects. Currently, she was scoped into a microscope, studying the effects of a new transgene (that's an external DNA strand introduced into an organism, for you uneducated folks) on a sample of skin cells.

"Pardon me, Minster O'Deorain?" a voice spoke. Moving her head very slightly, she gave a glance at the person who had disturbed her. It was one of the student interns, a brown-skinned male whom she recalled as having received a research grant to work with one of the professors.

"You're interrupting my work," she stated dryly, returning her attention to her petri dish.

"Yes, I'm sorry, Minister, but it's important. You've received a call from Mr. Orukiro."

"Ah."

Orukiro was one of Doomfist's aliases that he used when he had to communicate through a public venue. It wasn't often, so whatever he needed to tell her was likely of some importance.

"Tell Mr. Orukiro to allow me ten minutes. Genetic material is quite sensitive and must be properly disposed of. We wouldn't want to re-introduce cancer, now would we?"

"Of course not, Minister. I'll let him know right away," the intern recited, turning around and leaving.

Moira scowled as she re-sealed the petri dish and began decontaminating the station she was using. The discovery of a reliable cure to cancer was one of Overwatch's most landmark achievements, and almost certainly a landmark for medicine overall. It was heralded, of course, by Dr. Angela Ziegler. The next step in that process was to find a way to exterminate cancer from the source, and that was the sort of research that Moira had dedicated her life to. Apparently, it was also the sort of research the public was too scared to approach, because figuring out how to turn off cancer could lead to knowing how to turn it on. As if that was a reason not to extinct diseases from the world.

Hanging up her lab coat, the last item to be put back in place, she swiftly departed for her office, where she may receive the call in private. As a Minister, her office was rather spacious. She had a desk with a computer, with a hi-definition holo-monitor on it. There was a bookshelf that she had filled with various textbooks, research papers, and her favorite works of literature that she read every once in a while. In the corner next to the door were two coatracks, one for her actual coat and one that was custom-made for her biotic gear.

She sat at the desk and pulled up a voice chat app that connected to a private, Talon-owned communication satellite. Immediately, the muscular image of Doomfist sitting on a floor in a tent appeared on the screen.

"Good morning, Dr. Doomfist. Enjoying the desert heat? Surely, it can't be worse than the Middle East."

"You should be more concerned about the Sahara Desert, because that is where I need you to be."

"Do you? And why is that?"

A confident grin grew on the African man's face. "There are two reasons. Number one is that we have confirmed that direct exposure to Australium extends one's lifespan. Nine mercenaries from the era where the Australium report was written were uncovered in a hidden base in the area."

Moira raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "Fascinating! That runs contrary to typical radioactivity in substances. Remind me, how old was that report?"

"A hundred years. One would think they would be bare sacks of flesh and bone, but they were in prime condition. Our latest intel tells us that there is a supply of Australium in western Egypt," he explained, sending over a satellite image with coordinates. "Since you are nearby, and Australium has properties that may be relevant to your work, I think you would be the best agent for the job."

"I see. What is the second reason?"

Doomfist's expression sullied. "Unfortunately, Overwatch intercepted our plans and reached them before we did. Most of them were convinced to join their side. I say most because one of them defected. A Frenchman, and he persuaded Lacroix to allow him a chance to join Talon."

Moira placed her hands together and gave a contemplative frown. "I understand. You want me to return to a Talon base with the Australium and perform some tests on her conditioning?"

"Not quite. I'm assigning her to join you in Egypt, as we fully expect Overwatch to fight us for the Australium. We saw one of their vehicles en route for the area, so it is a priority to have you two cover each other. But yes, do keep an eye on her."

"Very well. I will oblige your request and deploy as soon as I prepare a convincing cover for my sudden departure."

"Thank you, Moira. I look forward to hearing status updates."

The connection was cut, and Moira gazed at the blank screen for a moment. _A hundred years is rather far-fetched. But I see no reason for Ogundimu to lie about such a matter. I will remember to make a note to run tests on this new agent to see how the Australium has affected him._

* * *

A lone jeep glided over the sands in the Red Sea Governorate in Egypt, near Qena. The closest semblance of a road within 50 miles was the wake made by the jeep's own hover jets. The jeep had two occupants: a large African man in the driver's seat, and a scrawny Bostonian with his feet on the dashboard. Neither of them looked comfortable.

"C'mon, are we there yet?" the white one complained.

"You are the one that knows what the place looks like. Are we there yet?" the other answered.

"Ah, well, I guess not."

They continued driving for a while, making liberal use of the canteen of water they had in the back seat. There was nothing around them but sand, more sand, and an occasional ruin or small pyramid. I'll never understand why anyone would want to live in the Sahara Desert, Bahrān thought. As mixed as my memories are about my home, at least there's water and wildlife there.

Eventually, they reached the foothills of the Red Sea Hills, and they could barely make out a small valley through the desert haze. From a distance, it almost looked like a town, with many old sandstone buildings built into large rocks on the hillside.

"Yeah, that's the place," the Scout confirmed. He sat up and squinted before pointing at something. "But what's that van doing up there?"

Bahrān had to resist the urge to slam on the breaks. As a precaution, he slowed it some and began turning to the left. As he peered over the bright sands, he did notice an azure van-like vehicle parked close to the ruins.

"It doesn't look like it belongs to Talon… In my experience, they brand themselves as much as Overwatch did. I don't see why they would choose to be discrete in a location that no one knows about anyway."

"You could say the same about the base itself… Pull 'round the side, I wanna check this out."

Bahrān followed the Scout's instructions, looking for a decent place to hide the vehicle. Now that he was closer, he could make out some of the interior of the establishment. He could also see the Scout, unbuckled and crouched in his seat with his gun in his hand.

"What are you thinking? We don't want them knowing we are suspicious."

"I'm keeping an eye out. Gotta be ready to run and can't do much fro- WATCH OUT!"

The Scout practically dove into the steering wheel, swerving it to the left and nearly capsizing it if the auto-balance in the hoverjets hadn't kicked in. A white streak whizzed straight past Bahrān's head into the windshield, fracturing it. Almost immediately, the runner swiveled over the door frame and took off in a sprint towards the ruins.

The Swahili brought the vehicle to a quick stop, threw aside his seatbelt, and stumbled onto the ground behind the jeep as he processed his near-death experience. Thinking it through, he recollected a memory from the last base. _That must be the Widowmaker again._ He heard a beeping in his ear and remembered that Symmetra's earpiece was there. He pressed a finger up to it to turn it on.

"How long ya gonna sit there? I'm distractin' tha sniper so you can get yer rock barrel, and I don't have all day."

He didn't respond, because he hated to admit that the Scout deserved credit. Although the guy looked like a _debe_ making a lot of noise, his reaction to the situation was nothing short of well-seasoned. Bahrān was a crafty fellow, but he could see clearly that his short time in Overwatch was nothing compared to a trained mercenary.

Hauling the Stone Packer out of the back seat of the jeep, he scooped a large swathe of the coarse sand from the ground and had it press the material into a stack of bricks. As it was working, he withdrew from his armor the blueprint device Torbjörn had made that held the frame of his Golem. He attached the device to the bricks and turned it on. In a matter of seconds, the bricks had arranged themselves into the familiar form of his invention, and the stone humanoid came to life. Setting the Stone Packer to ammunition mode, he filled it with more sand and mentally instructed the Golem to advance towards the settlement. The battle had begun.

* * *

Amélie looked down on the ruins of Egypt from the open side door of the small Talon hovercraft. Their faded color reflected a lot of sunlight, and she could feel the desert scorch radiating up from the ground even through her heat-shielded outfit. In her mind, she was running through the simulations and previous missions where she had needed to deal with heat mirage. Finding a suitable perch in the shade would be ideal, of course, but a cursory scan of the ruins suggested that there were a lot of covered areas that she wouldn't be able to reach from any particular hiding spot.

Due to the abundance of buildings, their best touchdown location was a small clearing connected through a tunnel overlooking a ravine. It looked like it could double as a good chokepoint when Overwatch arrived.

As the craft came in for a landing, she saw a familiar figure investigating some rubble on a raised platform from the destination. Dressed in that gaudy black robe again was Moira O'Deorain. For the Widowmaker, that usually meant some sort of conditioning experiment that interfered with her physical and/or mental acuity. Although she didn't have emotions anymore, she still got a semblance of disdain for the impact the woman had on her missions.

Once the air vehicle had touched the ground, she disembarked with the other Talon soldiers who were on board. Moira didn't look up from her musing when she began to speak.

"How inquisitive. I wonder what structure was here before time decided to bury it, and what purpose it served."

"It is no concern of ours, Moira. I take it you arrived without suspicion?"

"It was not simple to avoid the watchful eye of the Minister of Transportation, but it is certainly not the first time I have gone through the process."

"Did you locate the Australium in all of your wondering?"

* * *

I'm sorry that this is how everything turned out.


End file.
